


us, unyielding

by neroh



Series: like blood in my veins [7]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Breaking Up & Making Up, Depression, Fix-It, Ginger Ale/Merlin - Freeform, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kingsman Spoilers, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pugs, Screw you Matt Vaughn, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Cameo, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: The thing about being a Kingsman is that you make many promises.But staying alive usually isn’t one of them.





	us, unyielding

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fix-it because I'm not here for this shit. I pushed the timeline to two years after _The Secret Service_.
> 
> Thank you to Bre for the beta as well as Leah, Tresa, Ronald, Mo, and Allison. xoxo

The moment Eggsy’s face is turned towards the lenses of his fallen glasses, revealing opened, unseeing eyes, Merlin understands what it’s like to have his world fall apart.

 

* * *

 

He and Eggsy sequester themselves in a quiet room of the Statesmen tower, jet-lagged and weary and reeling because Harry was _alive_.

Harry Hart, who they buried and mourned and left flowers on his grave for, was alive and _holy shit_!

They stand there, staring at each other in silence until Eggsy clears his throat and says, “Well, that happened.”

“Indeed,” Merlin replies, tiredly. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Indeed.”

The dull thud of Eggsy’s body against the wall makes him wince. It’s been nearly twenty hours since Merlin last slept, possibly more. Almost a day has passed since he woke up in his own bed with Eggsy’s face pressed into the space between his shoulders and JB lying across their legs. Eggsy would have to leave for Sweden soon for a goodwill visit with the royal family, but none of that mattered. They had their little family of three and Merlin wouldn’t change a bloody thing.

“I can’t believe it,” Eggsy whispers, awestruck. He’s loosening the knot of his tie until it falls through the collar and into his hand. He undoes the top two buttons and breathes deeply. “Harry…all this fuckin’ time…”

Merlin makes a sound of agreement and closes his eyes. “Not even Death would defeat him,” he mumbles.

“The Devil himself didn’t even want ‘im,” his boyfriend jokes, his tone flat. He clears his throat. “But it happened, right? We were at the funeral, yeah? We buried _someone_.”

He blinks to find Eggsy drawing closer with a desperate expression on his face. Lingering softness in his cheeks has seemed to melt away to reveal the hard lines of a man; a Kingsman agent. When he first met Eggsy, he had been a boy despite his rap sheet and steely gaze.

And then…well…a lot of things transpired.

“Hamish?” Eggsy whispers, coming closer until he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist. His forehead drops onto his shoulder. “ _Who_ did we bury?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin replies, unable to bring himself to hug Eggsy back. He’s gobsmacked, stunned. _Floored._

He had mourned Harry, just like everyone else. Merlin’s heart ached whenever he went to dial Harry’s number only to remember that he was dead. Every time he wanted to tell him about something funny or how happy he was with Eggsy, he had to remind himself that Harry was gone.

But he’s not any of those things. Harry’s been alive the entire time, living in a bunker under Statesmen’s thumb, and Merlin isn’t sure how to feel.

Angry. Elated. Disappointed. Frustrated. Relieved.

None of it feels right.

“Babe,” Eggsy says, voice muffled by the fabric of his jacket. “You alright?”

His arms tighten around him and Merlin can’t _breathe_. Pushing away, Merlin takes several steps and tries to shake the sheer panic coursing through his veins. He can’t and it rages on.

“Merlin?” his boyfriend calls, sounding worried. His heels click on the floor as he comes up behind Merlin, but doesn’t touch him. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

He shakes his head. “I need…” _Fuck_ , he doesn’t know what he needs. His world, as he knows it, has fallen apart—HQ is in shambles, most of the agents are dead (except for most the administrative and medical staff who were mercifully elsewhere), and Harry is miraculously _alive_. “A bit of time to myself,” he says.

Probably more than a bit; eons most likely. Merlin reckons he’ll need an entire lifetime just to process the last day or so, plus the days that will certainly follow. They have a new foe, far more dangerous and destructive than Richmond Valentine ever could be.

“Sure,” Eggsy says, taking a step back. “I’ll go talk to that bloke with the skippin’ rope. Whiskey? Tequila? Vodka? Come find me whenever, yeah?”

As Eggsy turns away, Merlin reaches for his wrist and finds expectant green eyes staring lovingly at him. He thinks of V-Day and the first time they had each other on the jet; how anger darkened his boyfriend’s irises and grief brought them together. He doesn’t really want to be alone right now despite the turmoil pulsing through him. Merlin wants to snatch just a few minutes with Eggsy, even if they don’t have the luxury of them.

“Not yet,” he says, tugging him closer and thinking how _fucking gorgeous_ his boyfriend is as he comes willingly. He removes Eggsy’s glasses and places them in the pocket of his suit. “Not now,” Merlin whispers.

Bless him for understanding Merlin’s meaning. Eggsy’s tongue darts over his lips as he nods. “Yeah,” Eggsy whispers back, closing the centimeters between them. His wrist slips from Merlin’s grasp, moving upward until he’s looping both arms around his shoulders. “Okay.”

And Merlin kisses him, sucking Eggsy’s bottom lip between his teeth and biting down to hear him moan. To feel him pressing the entire length of his body against his and to get him out of that terrible suit so Merlin can _touch every centimeter of compact muscle_ with his hands, then mouth for good measure. He wants to be inside the tight hotness of Eggsy, watching as his cock stretches his arsehole.

Eggsy backs him into the corner, both of them chuckling into each other’s mouths as fingers begin removing their clothing. That pinstriped jacket, Merlin’s tie, a belt, and so on end up on the floor. He doesn’t care if they haven’t closed the door and that someone could very well walk in on them _in flagrante_ ; the moment he touches Eggsy’s skin, all of Merlin’s common sense flies out the window. He changes their positions as Eggsy loses his y-fronts to the puddle around his ankles and lifts him, carrying Eggsy to a nearby couch.

The second Merlin’s knees hit the cushions, Eggsy continues removing Merlin from his pants and underwear between frenzied kisses. “Fuck, babe,” he moans, clumsily pushing his clothes down. “Please tell me you came prepared.”

“Back pocket,” Merlin replies as he sucks on the skin over Eggsy’s pulse point, tasting stale sweat and bits of his cologne. He catches Eggsy’s tongue with his own, wrapping them around each other as fingers dig into his trousers. He moans into his mouth, surging forward as his legs bracket Eggsy’s hips.

Merlin had planned a quick tryst when Eggsy came back from Sweden; something involving having the lad spread out on the desk in his office with only the black tie around his neck and Merlin’s cock up his arse.

All very shameless and ungentlemanly—everything that’s the against the foundations which Kingsman was built upon.

Honestly, Merlin could give a shit. He has Eggsy’s hard cock rubbing against his abdomen, angled just so that he can feel precum spilling in abundance. His mouth moves elsewhere, kissing down the cords of Eggsy’s neck, in the hollow of his throat, as Eggsy tears open the small pack of lube. His breath—aroused and panting—fills Merlin’s ears and good _God_ , he has to look at him as Eggsy reaches behind himself, sticking his fingers into the tight bud of his arsehole.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” Eggsy groans, eyes fluttering as his fingers twist and stretch himself. “I thought I lost you before you came out of the dark with your brolly.”

He leans in, presses his lips against Eggsy’s eyelids. “Remember what I said after our first fight?”

“That I could use a proper lie-in?” the younger man teases. His breath curls hot on Merlin’s cheek.

“You won’t ever lose me,” Merlin says, repeating a promise said over a year ago. He removes Eggsy’s fingers and uses them to slick up his cock. Kissing Eggsy’s stomach, Merlin hooks his legs over his arms. “I’ll do everything in my power to stay with you, love.”

Eggsy looks up at Merlin, eyes filled with so much love and devotion and Merlin can’t believe Eggsy loves _him_ back. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he says, thrusting into him.

 

* * *

 

The thing about being a Kingsman is that you make many promises.

But staying alive usually isn’t one of them.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t remember stepping on the landmine or the way the explosion tore through him as he sang John Denver.

But Merlin remembers Eggsy’s pleading. And Harry’s stoic acceptance of what Merlin was about to do. But mostly Eggsy’s face as tears pooled at his water line.

That horrible gut-wrenching image coming from afar before the world turned white, then black. Then nothing _but_ them. They’re still searing through his brain when he wakes up in a medical unit, confused and unable to feel his own body.

His head, his thoughts, his everything is somewhere in the stratosphere where Merlin can’t touch. As if he reaches for them only to have his fingers graze the surface and come back with nothing. Like they’re smoke and he’s trying to catch them with his bare hands, taunting him and Merlin isn’t privy to the joke.

He tries again and again, only to fall back into the nothingness of which he emerged from.

 

* * *

 

Merlin tears off the thick blankets piled on top of him to find one leg instead of two.

The world narrows to a pinprick, sure, but manifests once he’s regained his breath. He thinks _this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, why is this happening_ as one of the nurses rushes to find Eggsy. Blood roars in his ears, drowning out all other sounds because _where the fuck is his other leg and why is there a stump in its place_?

Reaching for the gauze-covered limb, he blinks and wonders if it’s all but a dream. A terrible dream where he’ll wake up back in the flat with Eggsy flung across him like always. JB will be between their legs and it will be just another day. He will open his eyes and all will be fine in their world.

Because this _doesn’t make any sense_. This wasn’t in the plan Merlin had for his life; for the life he planned on sharing with Eggsy.

Pain spikes through him as Merlin’s hand grasps his right leg; it’s the barest touch, though it could be on fire for how badly it hurts. His lungs stop, all of the oxygen rushing out his nose and mouth. It’s like someone has tortured him when it’s only himself in the room and _holy shit, his leg is fucking gone_!

This revelation suffocates him, overcomes his entire being, so much so that Merlin doesn’t notice two pairs of footsteps stampeding towards him. A muffled voice calls him; the sound like it’s coming from the surface and he’s underwater.

Fitting, seeing as Merlin feels like he’s drowning.

Someone touches his face, turning him until he’s staring into Eggsy’s wide eyes. His face has a colorful array of bruising on top of his ashened skin. “Merlin,” he says again, the words coming out before his mouth moves. “Babe,” he says, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulling it over Merlin’s legs again. “Look at me,” he gently commands, cupping both of Merlin’s cheeks. He turns away, asking for the other person in the room to get Harry, posthaste.

Jesus Christ—Harry’s _alive_!

“Hamish,” Eggsy pleads, thumbs stroking either side of Merlin’s face. “Look at me, babe. It’s gonna be alright, yeah? We’re gonna get through this, we are.” He seems to believe the words spilling out of his mouth; Merlin notices the spark of the lies they tell themselves in the moss green of his eyes.

His expression shifts; Eggsy is guileless, like a favorite book Merlin enjoys reading over and over again, and melts into one of concern. “Babe?” he whispers, voice cracking with emotion. He gives Merlin a little shake. “Say somethin’.”

Merlin opens his mouth and screams.

 

* * *

 

When he’s calmer—as calm as one can be when they’ve woken up to find _one of their bloody legs missing_ —Xavier comes to see him with Harry in tow.

His friend lingers in the background, arms folded over his chest as Xavier explains what the fuck even happened. He starts with, “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?” It’s one hell of a loaded question if there ever was one, but Merlin knows why Dr. Hanover is asking. They’re trying to assess what other damage lies beneath the surface of his skin besides the obvious, obviously.

“Poppy Land,” he answers, his voice hoarse from disuse or, perhaps, when he screamed until someone came with a mighty strong sedative, sending him spiraling back down to darkness. Merlin really ought to thank whoever did that, but thinking versus doing is turning out to be a hard sell at the moment. He can hardly stay awake long enough for friends and colleagues to have meaningful visits with him, much less hold a paper cup without his hand shaking.

Xavier spares Harry a questioning glance, who in turn raises both eyebrows. “What can you recall?”

“We stepped off the plane,” Merlin says, the reply tapering off as he tries to remember.

Him and Eggsy following the Doomsday protocol and their unnecessarily undignified arrival at Statesman HQ; finding Harry alive and suffering from amnesia while still being _very much_ Harry Hart; their debriefing with Champagne about the Golden Circle, and a hurried encounter in an empty room where Merlin promised with everything in his power to always stay by Eggsy’s side.

Then the overcrowded Glastonbury, the smallest terrier puppy with a gun pointed at it to trigger—no pun intended—Harry’s memories, and all the mayhem leading to the wilds of Cambodia. In the heat and humidity and godawful pop culture throwback that was Poppy Land, Merlin watched as Eggsy took a step forward and he _knew_.

He _knew_ he needed to move quickly before—

“Eggsy stepped on a landmine,” he whispers as if he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying. He stares where the blankets lay flat on the mattress, where his leg should extend, but doesn’t. “I pushed him…”

“You saved his life,” Harry tells him, speaking for the first time. He takes a step forward and curls his fingers around the rails at the end of the bed. “When you could have lost your own.”

Merlin meets Harry’s eyes, feeling more drained than he had only moments ago. He doesn’t know what to say; he did what was natural. What was expected of a Kingsman? What he _had_ to do because a world without Eggsy Unwin isn’t a world he wants to live in.

But he isn’t sure if wants to be in this one either; the one where he’s no longer the man he once was. Merlin is a broken thing now and he did it to save Eggsy’s life. It weighs heavily on his shoulders and sits bitterly on his tongue; he doesn’t know how he feels about either of them.

“Hamish?” Harry says. It’s strange to hear him speak his name after so long—two years since Merlin thought he was dead—or see Harry standing there. He smiles when Merlin looks at him; there’s sadness in that smile and Merlin can hardly stand it. “If you wouldn’t mind, Xavier, perhaps we could have a moment?”

Xavier nods in understanding. “Of course. I should probably speak with Whiskey regarding the preparations for the medical wing upgrades. She’s been rather busy, that one,” he replies, confusing Merlin. He bids them both goodbye and leaves the room.

“I thought Whiskey…” Merlin begins to say.

“He means Ms. Ale,” Harry tells him. “The former Whiskey turned out to be an unsavory character, as I suspected. You’ll be pleased to know that Eggsy and I dispatched him through a meat grinder.”

He makes a face. “That’s rather grotesque, even for you.”

“When in Rome?” Harry jokes as he comes around, pulling up a chair alongside the bed and sits. “Anyhow, Champ offered us the mantel, but Eggsy and I declined. It will thrive under her.”

“What will you be now that Galahad’s taken?”

“I haven’t decided,” the other man admits. “It’s too soon to tell, seeing how we’re just starting to rebuild.”

Merlin shrugs. “How many agents did we lose, anyhow?”

“With the exception of Lancelot, Percival, Bors, and Lamorak, all of them. Most of the administrative staff are accounted for, thank goodness.” Harry unbuttons his suit jacket and goes about making himself comfortable. “I heard that Flora was Arthur before she stepped down.”

“She and Richard wanted to spend more time with Georgiana’s son,” Merlin tells him, noting the look of surprise on Harry’s face. They were both relatively new to Kingsman when they heard about Flora’s eldest daughter’s death and the unknown whereabouts of her child. It was one of the few missions in which their colleagues failed to save their marks in time, though not without trying. “Illya’s his name; nice lad. A bit quiet, but friendly once he warms up to you. He and his partner, Napoleon, moved to South Kensington a few months ago.”

“Napoleon as in _Napoleon Solo_?” Harry asks as if Merlin’s sprouted horns. When Merlin nods, he slumps his shoulders in astonishment. “Huh. If you had told me he would settle down, I would have thought you need your head examined.”

Merlin tries to smile, but only manages a tight smirk. “Takes all sorts, I suppose.”

“Eggsy,” Harry begins saying, “told me about your relationship while you were resting.” He’s changing the subject to something to more personal, something that he thinks will make Merlin happy. “Honestly, he couldn’t stop gushing about you.”

He shrugs. He’s exhausted and the drugs are making him loopy. Honestly, all of this is a bit too much for him to handle at the moment. “Sorry,” Merlin says. “I’m fucking knackered.”

“I have no doubt,” Harry replies, patting his arm. “We can talk later if you’d like. Once you’ve had a chance to rest some more.” He stands—on two legs, which Merlin begrudgingly notes—and smoothes out the creases in his clothing. “I only know very little of how difficult this is for you,” he says, gesturing to his eye patch. “But don’t shut Eggsy out, Hamish.”

Merlin scowls. “I’m not shutting him out,” he grumbles.

“This is _me_ ,” Harry pointedly reminds him. Then again, thirty years of friendship means no bullshit or a place to hide. A heavy sigh passes through his mouth and into the open air. “Let him be there for you.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Merlin admits. Tears burn his eyes and he closes them, unable to look at Harry now that he’s said it aloud.

He doesn’t open his eyes when Harry goes to leave.

Or when he hears him whisper, “Please try.”

 

* * *

 

Merlin feigns sleep nearly every time Eggsy comes to visit him; anytime anyone comes to visit him really.

Granted he _does_ need the rest while his body recovers so the charade isn’t entirely farfetched. He should want to see Eggsy or his family. He should feel bad for lying in bed, unmoving, as he listens to his boyfriend whispering how much he loves him. The gentle caress of his hand and hot press of his lips shouldn’t make Merlin want to pull away in disgust of what he’s become.

He used to live for the quiet moments where he and Eggsy could be together without prying eyes, save for JB. Where Merlin had Eggsy all to himself and thought that he may burst because he loved Eggsy so damn much.

A love that became his very own Achilles heel in an incident he doesn’t remember, but cannot forget.

 

* * *

 

“You’re looking better,” Whiskey—or, rather, Vivian—tells him with one of her trademark enigmatic smiles.

It’s not the first time she’s come to see him; Vivian makes a point to visit when she isn’t wrapped up in the marriage of their two organizations. She brings her ever-present tablet before shoving it into Merlin’s hands to keep him privy to the merger’s progress and asking for his opinion. Which he’s absolutely certain Vivian doesn’t need, but Merlin appreciates the gesture; it keeps him occupied while he’s stuck in bed and for a while, he forgets about his leg.

Honestly, Merlin’s started looking forward to seeing her. Vivian is blunt, yet tactful, and she certainly doesn’t treat him as if he’s made of glass. She kicks him in the arse when he needs it, which is often.

 _Very_ often.

“For an amputee, you mean,” Merlin says as she pulls up a chair.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by his comment and goes on to ignore it. “I stole this for you,” she tells him as she hands him a tablet. It’s lightweight but powerful—probably the twin to Vivian’s own.

“It’s not stealing if it already belongs to us,” he reminds her while inspecting the device.

Vivian’s warm laughter pierces the space between them. She smiles brightly, like a model pupil who’s secretly up to no good. “It _is_ stealing if a certain doctor ordered that you are kept on bedrest and not to be busying yourself with the rebuilding efforts. Don’t worry, Eggsy and I wore Xavier down. So long as you’re not on it too much, he should be fine with you having it.”

Merlin nods as he sets the tablet on his lap. “My thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a team.”

“Ah yes, one big happy family,” he grouses. “Tell me, has someone managed to corral Tequila?”

Vivian chuckles because frankly, no one will ever be able to contain that man and they both know it. “Eggsy mainly, but only a little,” she admits. “Though honestly, I think he doesn’t even know what to do with him. I’m sure you’ve heard stories.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Merlin says as he traces the sleek edges of the tablet. He clears his throat. “I might be avoiding him.”

Now that he’s admitted it aloud, he feels rather embarrassed. Not everyone can say they have a partner who loves them so much, they would literally do anything for them. That their loved one thinks they hung the stars and sun and moon and looks at them so adoringly that they wondered how they go so lucky.

And here Merlin is, avoiding him like an arsehole.

Vivian’s exasperated sigh cuts into his thoughts. When he looks at her, she’s shaking her head. “And you think this is a good idea because why?”

Merlin thinks she must know—everyone left standing in Kingsman and those who have come over from Statesman with the rebuilding efforts knows about what happened—and Vivian pieces things together much faster than he ever could.

“It’s not,” he replies. “I never said it was.”

“Yet you are actively doing it,” she points out. Removing her glasses, Vivian leans forward, folding her arms over the edge of the mattress like she’s about to divulge a secret. “Is this where I tell you to either shit or get off the pot?”

Merlin rolls his head, cracking the cartilage in his neck. “Must I make a decision right now?” he asks, peeved.

His mood has no effect on her; he suspects having to deal with the Statesmen lot has caused Vivian to build a thick skin. “Not right now,” she says. “But if you don’t soon, it will hurt a lot more for both of you.”

“ _This_ ,” he snaps, gesturing to his missing leg, “is a lot to get used to, alright?” Merlin balls the comforter in his hands until they begin to ache. “I knew what I was getting into when I joined Kingsman. I prepared myself for death—my own and the people around me—but no one ever tells us what happens if we don’t die. If we come back like this.”

Vivian tilts her head in consideration. “Like what?”

“Fucking _broken_!” Merlin shouts. He tears the blanket off his lower half. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up and see this every fucking morning? To be reminded of something you don’t even remember doing every. Fucking. Day?” Merlin feels a pressure building in his chest; rage, perhaps? He isn’t sure. “We are tasked to save people’s lives, but what about us? What happens to us? What will happen to me?”

Panic coils through his body as his eyes start to water uncontrollably. “What will happen to me?” Merlin sobs, chest heaving. “ _Fuck_!”

An alarm goes off as Vivian stands up and wraps her arms around him. The shrill sound would normally make his head hurt, but all Merlin is aware of is the light scent of her perfume and the warmth of her jumper brushing against his cheek.

“What will happen?” he whispers, voice muffled by Vivian’s shoulder. “What will happen to me?”

Someone comes, he has no idea who, but he hears Vivian say, “I have it under control” and “thank you for checking in” because unlike himself, she has the foresight to be polite.

Merlin, on the other hand, is blistering with anger and despair. It’s the first time he’s cried since waking up and he’s doing it on a virtual stranger’s shoulder. A part of him feels guilty for it because Vivian’s softness should be Eggsy’s firm muscles and the scrape of his stubble. It shouldn’t be her delicate voice in his ear or her manicured nails getting caught in the ties of his hospital gown.

This should all be Eggsy, but Merlin doesn’t want him here. He cannot bear to have him here.

“I put several prosthetic prototype ideas on the tablet,” Vivian whispers once the worst of Merlin’s tears have tapered off. She pulls back, glasses askew and smudged, and smiles. “We can work on something together. See what comes of it, perhaps give you a bionic leg that makes tea.”

Despite himself, Merlin snort laughs and goes to wipe his face. “Maybe we could install a warming pot so it never goes cold,” he teases as Vivian hands him tissues.

“Wifi wouldn’t go amiss,” she says. “HBO, too. You could watch _Game of Thrones_ , maybe some documentaries if you’re stuck here late.” When he’s done cleaning himself up, she takes the pile from Merlin’s lap and tosses them into the trash bin. “Feeling better?”

He shrugs. “I will be,” Merlin tells her.

“We have some therapists on staff who specialize in those coming back wounded or disfigured. Maybe you’d consider speaking to one of them?” Vivian kindly suggests. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“Will I ever be ready, though?” Merlin asks, offering a wan smile.

She takes off her glasses and cleans them against her sweater. “That, Merlin, is entirely up to you.”

 

* * *

 

“Vivian is rather nice, don’t you think?” Eggsy asks him later.

They’ve having dinner together and it’s the first time in a week that Merlin’s had a chance to see Eggsy when he’s not actively avoiding him. Smudges are beginning to appear under his eyes and grow darker; rebuilding isn’t an easy task and Merlin suspects everyone is looking a bit tired these days. “Hm?”

“Vivian,” Eggsy says. He’s watching Merlin pick at his plate, but doesn’t comment on it. “You know, Whiskey. Used to be Ginger Ale; she’s rather nice, yeah?”

Merlin gives up on eating and sets down his fork. The medication he’s been on to combat infection and keep his pain levels low has been a holy terror on his appetite, or lack thereof. “She is, aye.”

“Did she bring you that tablet?” His entire face lights up when Merlin nods, eyes shining and dimples visible at the corners of his mouth. “The bitchin’ we had to do to get Xavier to allow it was un-fuckin’-real, babe! You would have thought we was talkin’ givin’ you a racecar so you could speed up and down the countryside.”

He only half-listens to Eggsy’s tale of how he and Vivian managed to thwart Xavier Hanover’s famous stubborn streak. Normally this would undoubtedly amuse Merlin to no end because nothing is more hilarious than a story involving Xavier and his damnable Welsh pride. Normally Merlin would live for this except he finds himself feigning interest and the sound of Eggsy’s voice muffled by his own distraction. All he thinks of is the space where Eggsy’s plate is and that his leg should be close enough to knock it off the mattress if it were still attached to his body.

Merlin vaguely registers Eggsy calling for him. He turns, blinking at his boyfriend as the pet name ‘babe’ forms on Eggsy’s tongue. “Hm?”

“You zoned out on me,” he says. He gestures to Merlin’s plate. “You done?” When he nods, Eggsy takes it along with his own and goes over to the cart that one of the medical facility staff will come for later. His fingers touch the metal handles, rising and folding as Eggsy stands there, an unreadable expression forming on his face. “Are we okay?”

He shrugs. “I don’t understand why _we_ wouldn’t be,” Merlin replies with more bite than he intended.

Eggsy’s nostrils flare and he bites his bottom lip for when he’s about to yell but doesn’t want to. Merlin’s seen him do it plenty of times, whether with him, his mum, one of their colleagues, rarely his friends, and even rarer Daisy when she’s acting like a brat and Eggsy’s at his wit’s end. “I can leave,” he says. “If you want me to.”

 _That makes one of us_ , Merlin wants to say. _Or I’m glad you can because I can’t_ , he wants to yell. He breathes in as _I saved your life, but what cost to me_ itches for release on his tongue and instead says, “No. I want you to stay.”

Eggsy folds his arms over his chest. “Do you?”

Merlin holds his hand out to him and notices how Eggsy looks at it with hesitation. “I’m sorry, _a ghràidh_. Please come here— _stay_.” When he doesn’t move, Merlin lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not like I can walk over to you! Are you coming or not?”

“Not,” Eggsy retorts, grabbing his jacket from where he tossed upon arrival. “‘Night Merlin.”

“Eggsy!” he shouts as his boyfriend reaches for the door. “You don’t get to fucking walk out of here! Not right now! Not after what I did!”

He whirls around with furious green eyes blazing. “Is that how it’s gonna be then? I saved your life, do the laundry! I saved your life, clean the flat! I saved your life, you’re forever in my _fuckin’ debt_!”

“You have no idea!” Merlin snarls. He balls his hand into tight fists, feeling his fingernails digging into his palm. They cut through, bringing up beads of blood with them; it’s minor compared to the rest of him. Missing leg aside, he has patches of second and third-degree burns that have been grafted, bruising so deep that the area is black, chunks of skin stitched up and protected by gauze. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! While you’re out and about, I’ve been confined to this _fucking_ bed until they figure out what to do with me! I can barely look at my own family, let alone you or Harry or whoever else comes to see me!”

“You certainly have no problem looking at Vivian,” Eggsy spits back.

Merlin gnashes his teeth so hard, his jaw aches. “Oh, fuck you!”

“It’s true, innit?” Eggsy pulls on his jacket, shoving his arm through it so hard that it’s a bloody miracle it doesn’t rip. “The rest of us can fuck off, but as soon as _she_ comes in here…” He stops himself and shakes his head. “You know what? Forget it. I ain’t havin’ this argument with you, bruv. You’re tired, I’m tired and I’m leavin’ before this gets out of hand, yeah?”

“I’d say it’s already gotten out of hand,” Merlin sarcastically replies.

Eggsy looks like he might say something, but doesn’t. He also looks like he might burst into tears, but he doesn’t do that either.

Instead, Eggsy reaches for the doorknob without another word and leaves, not even sparing Merlin a glance.

 

* * *

 

Nigel comes to visit him and brings a tin of their mum’s raspberry buns.

Since the mansion has been destroyed, Merlin’s been staying at the Royal London Hospital, which has a dedicated wing for Kingsman and SIS. The food’s crap, but his view isn’t all that bad and his family can come see him.

It had been absolutely gutting to see the look on his mum’s face when she first saw him and how she clutched his dad’s arm while both of them held back tears. Merlin, himself, would have cried had it not been for the drugs he was on. Out of all of the Greaves siblings, Lorna’s taken it the hardest because Merlin’s her big brother; her protector, along with Nigel, and the easygoing middle child who kept them from tearing each other’s eyes out.

He hasn’t seen his nieces or nephew, except for Alexander, the eldest of the grandchildren and Nigel’s son. At sixteen, nearly seventeen, Alex took the sight of his favorite uncle in stoic fashion and barely spoke a word to him. He hasn’t come back since then and Merlin can’t say he blames him.

“Mish,” Nigel says, invocating his nickname since childhood because Hamish had been too difficult for a two-year-old Nigel to pronounce. “Are you sure your doctor won’t be cross?”

Merlin would take him more seriously if there weren’t crumbs spilling out his gob as he talks. “Aye, you nana’s boy,” he grumbles. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” Nigel calmly tells him. He takes after their mum with his light brown hair that’s going thin up top, stouter build, and bossiness, which is not all that surprising considering that he’s the eldest. All of the Greaves children are tall like their father, though Lorna and Merlin have darker coloring. “I reckon that Hanover fellow can be quite scary if he wants to be. It must be the Welsh in him.”

He shrugs. “I think he knows better than to separate a proper Scot from homemade raspberry buns.”

“Hm,” Nigel says in agreement, bobbing his head. Silence passes between them as they attempt to watch an Arsenal game on the telly and fail miserably. “Do you think we could bribe him?”

“I don’t see why not,” Merlin says, scratching his freshly shaven cheek courtesy of Nigel, who had brought a shaving kit with him. “How are the kids?”

Nigel reaches for the remote and shuts off the telly. “Good. Concerned about their favorite uncle, which I’m sure Peter is _thrilled_ about,” he says referring to their brother-in-law. “I don’t know why he’s so surprised.”

“He’s as interesting as drying paint,” Merlin agrees, chuckling. “But he makes Lo happy and is a bloody good dad to the girls.”

“Aye,” Nigel mumbles. “Guess we’re stuck with him. Alex’s doing better, though. I think it was a shock for him, seeing you for the first time.”

Merlin frowns, nodding. “You think he’ll come by again or have I scared him off for good?”

He’s not one to play favorites, but Alex is, well, his favorite. He remembers him as a squalling, pink baby with downy fuzz on top of his head as Nigel placed him in Merlin’s arms. Alex had been so small then—just a few days old—and so fragile, yet so strong. Alex had stopped squawking and stared up at him with the slate blue eyes all babies have before he squeaked, earning his nickname. It had been love at first sight and even with Alex’s teenage years, they’ve managed to remain close. Merlin marvels how quickly time has gone by and his nephew is nearly an adult, already applying to university and talking about plans for the future.

“I doubt you could scare Alex off,” his brother assures with a merry chuckle. “Other people, yes, but never Alex.”

“If these weren’t so bloody good, I’d chuck one at your head,” Merlin grumbles before taking another bite into the bun. _Fuck_ , Mum had really outdone herself!

Nigel laughs in his face as someone raps on the door. Both of them look towards to find Vivian standing there in civvies for once. “I didn’t realize you had company,” she says in apology.

“He’s not company,” Merlin says as he motions for her to join them. “Just my older brother. Nigel, this is Vivian.”

Ever the gentleman their parents brought them up to be, Nigel stands up and shakes her hand with a friendly smile. “Nigel Greaves.”

She returns it with one of her own. “Vivian Munday,” she says. It’s the first time Merlin’s ever heard her full name.

Once Nigel’s pulled up another chair having given Vivian his, he asks, “So how do you know Mish?”

“Mish?” Vivian echoes, confused as she glances at Merlin.

“Aye, that would be me,” he says. “Hamish.” He then scowls at Nigel. “Or Mish, though only used in _very_ rare instances.”

Nigel rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. Do you two work together?”

“We do,” Vivian answers cryptically. “I am your brother’s counterpart in the States.”

“Counterpart? You seem much more pleasant to work with,” Nigel tells her as he grabs the tin and offers her a pastry. “Scottish raspberry bun?”

Merlin scoffs. “Those are _mine_!”

“Sod off,” Nigel fires back. “Our mum made them. Try one.”

Vivian only stays for a little while, though it’s long enough for Nigel to embarrass him. She politely excuses herself and leaves with a promise to return later. Before the door even shuts behind her, Nigel is glaring at Merlin.

“What?” he says as he uses his thumb to pick up crumbs on the tin’s lid. Merlin raises a brow. “What did I do?”

“You know what,” Nigel replies, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to observe him. “What the fuck was that with Ms. Munday, hm?”

He stares at his brother and meets his glare with one of his own. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“What the hell…” his brother mumbles. “Has grievous injury given you a wandering eye, Hamish Rupert Malcolm MacKenzie Greaves? Did you forget about Eggsy? You know, _your boyfriend_. Who lives with you. The one you haven’t spoken to in a week because of some row you two had!”

“I _know_ who Eggsy is and how the hell did you find out about that?” Merlin snarls. “Is there a Hamish Greaves phone tree I don’t know about? Don’t I get any privacy, for fuck’s sake? Hey!”

Nigel snatches the lid from him and sets it out of reach. “I _know_ that because Harry found Eggsy in the toilets, bawling his eyes out, and called _me_ to find out what the hell happened.”

“He hasn’t spoken to me either,” Merlin intones, pouting like a child.

“Because you nearly tore his bollocks off the last time he tried,” Nigel reminds him. He hangs his head and releases a heavy sigh and looks at Merlin again. “I can’t even imagine what this is like for you, Mish,” he says, more gentle than before. “No one can. Maybe Harry with the eye thing…but that’s not the point.” He reaches across the bed and takes Merlin’s hand into his, giving it a squeeze. “You know how I felt about Eggsy when I first met him.”

“That’s because _you_ can’t fucking knock,” Merlin grumbles, remembering how his older brother barged into his bedroom whilst Eggsy was riding him and killed an otherwise romantic moment. He spent hours convincing his boyfriend to unlock the bathroom door and come out; literally _hours_. Honestly, Merlin had never seen Eggsy so embarrassed for the entire time he’d known him.

“ _That’s_ beside the point,” Nigel snorts. “I thought he was too young for you and you were going through some sort of mid-life crisis.” Merlin goes to retort, but his brother cuts him off. “But I got to know him and saw how arse over tits he was for you and vice versa. So what’s the problem? Is it this?” He gestures to what’s left of Merlin’s right leg. “Because the way I see it, Eggsy could give a shit about how many limbs you have.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you need time to process?” Nigel asks. “Just to sort yourself out?”

Merlin shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Well, you better fucking figure it out and pull your head out of your arse instead of flirting with Miss Whats-her-face because Eggsy deserves more than that, Hamish,” Nigel says. He’s never been one to mince words, especially with Merlin.

And he’s not exactly wrong about Eggsy deserving more, but he’s not exactly right either. Merlin can’t tell him that he can barely look his boyfriend in the eye without feeling the beginnings of seething resentment or wanting to scream himself hoarse.

He’s so _fucking_ angry. So fucking angry that Eggsy stepped on that landmine, that he pushed him off it without a second thought. That instead of dying, he woke up to _this_ mess.

“Hamish,” Nigel pleads. “ _Please_. Talk to him.”

Everyone keeps telling him that, but Merlin won’t tell them that he’s unable to find the right words.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy comes to see him several days before Merlin’s being released from the hospital.

He’s already started physio and been fitted for a temporary prosthetic so he can learn to walk again. Merlin finds the entire process unfairly emotional and it usually ends up leaving him feeling snappish, especially after a grueling session.

It’s strange to see Eggsy standing at the threshold of his room, having not seen or spoken to him in nearly two weeks. He’s heard from Harry and Vivian that Eggsy has been busy being volleyed from one side of the pond to the other. Now that he’s here in the flesh, Merlin notices how awkward they are around each other.

Neither of them wants to toe the line or cross it; they’re in a stalemate and its thickness hangs heavily in the hospital room.

“Hi,” he says, taking a step forward. Eggsy glances at the prosthetic attached to Merlin’s leg and the crutches Xavier insists upon. “Lookin’ good.”

Merlin glances down at himself—he’s _finally_ wearing his own clothes—and shrugs. “Feeling good,” he replies. “When did you get back?”

Eggsy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “This mornin’. I came straight over from Heathrow when Harry told me you was gettin’ released soon. You must be excited, yeah? To be back in our flat.”

He swallows, limping forward as he says, “Eggsy.”

“Look, I know things haven’t been good between us,” the lad admits. He looks so damned guilty, standing there in his rumpled suit and tired expression. “I just…please tell me what I can do. Because I’ll do anythin’ for you, babe. Anythin’ you want.” His voice cracks at the last word while the greens of Eggsy’s eyes brighten.

Merlin shifts his weight between the crutches, trying to take some pressure off his armpits. He only just remembers how much he fucking hates these things, having forgotten about the experience when he broke his leg. “I just need time,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Eggsy says carefully. He nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

He flinches, knowing that Eggsy doesn’t understand him. That he doesn’t know how much Merlin’s thought this over ever since his conversation with Nigel. That he’s spent many sleepless nights debating about going on without Eggsy at his side, whether it be a temporary or permanent thing.

All Merlin knows is that he can barely look Eggsy in the eye. “I need time.”

“You said that,” Eggsy replies, his features wrinkling in confusion.

Merlin wants to kiss it away, chuckling and blowing raspberries into his boyfriend’s skin. All he wants to do at the moment is run away and hide. “Eggsy,” he intones.

Eggsy looks at him, eyes narrowed into a frown until shock widens them. His mouth opens and closes, words unable to work them out of his throat. He takes a step back, running trembling fingers through his hair. “You,” he croaks, accusingly. Defeatedly. “You mean…” He swallows back a whimper. “You want to break up.”

“Yes,” Merlin states, squeezing the rubber grips on the crutches. “I think in light of what’s happening…” Merlin steadies himself as tears spill down Eggsy’s cheeks because, _fuck_ , he hates to be the reason why Eggsy’s crying. “It would be better for both of us.”

“For _you_ , you mean,” Eggsy hisses. He runs the sleeve of his jacket over one cheek, then another. “You think I can’t handle bein’ with you while tacklin’ this shit? Because _I_ know I can!”

He shakes his head. “Well, _I_ can’t!” Merlin fires back.

“You haven’t even bloodied tried! We were talkin’ ‘bout gettin’ another dog, gettin’ married!” Eggsy’s face is red and wet and he’s so fucking beautiful. His expression darkens from a scowl and Eggsy holds up his hands in surrender as if he’s seen something in Merlin. “I get it, bruv. You want the easy way out.”

Merlin didn’t expect that. “Absolutely not!” he shouts. “And fuck you for even suggesting it!”

“You’re the arsehole breakin’ up with me!” Eggsy bellows, his earlier composure breaking. He charges up to Merlin, angry and fiery and ready to fight. “I _never_ asked you to step on that landmine! That was all _you_ , bruv!”

“You didn’t give me a fucking choice!” Merlin screams. “It was never a choice!” he adds, feeling his face burning hotly.

Eggsy tries to laugh, but it comes out as a pitiful, broken sound. “But you’re actin’ like I made you do it!”

 _Because you did_ , he thinks. _Because you did without even realizing it._ Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “I want you out of the flat.”

Eggsy looks like he’s been slapped across the face. “Fine,” he says after a while. “I’ll be gone before you’re released. You won’t have to worry ‘bout me or JB.”

 _But I will worry_ , Merlin wants to tell him. “Fine,” he tells him instead.

“Fine,” Eggsy repeats, a sob curling around the word. He wipes his face, sniffling. “So this is it then?”

“I suppose it is,” Merlin replies, feeling numb. So terribly numb, as if someone’s poured ice into his veins. He closes his eyes, not wanting to see Eggsy walk out.

If only he could block out the sound.

 

* * *

 

As promised, Eggsy’s things are gone by the time Merlin hobbles into the flat.

He pretends he doesn’t miss him.

It almost works.

 

* * *

 

Merlin suffers through physio and the predictable ‘ _where is Eggsy_ ’ question.

“We broke up,” he tells people, trying to ignore the look of sympathy on their faces because he doesn’t need or deserve it.

“It wasn’t working out,” he says and pretends that he doesn’t see the scowl on his brother’s face because Nigel knows he’s full of shit.

“We couldn’t make it work,” he lies when the other excuses are used too much and they’ve grown brittle on his tongue. The thing is, Merlin knows they could have made it work. He’s the one who didn’t try, who didn’t want to try because he’s so angry.

And now Merlin’s the one who sleeps with an empty space shaped like Eggsy to remind him.

 

* * *

 

Several months later, he comes back to the new tailor shop, which has risen up like a phoenix from the ashes of the old one.

While the mansion and distillery are far from finished, the shop is all fresh paint, varnished wood, and secret doors. As Vivian takes him on a tour, Merlin hardly recognizes anyone who happens to wander by. He sees Bors and Percival, who greet him warmly. Lamorak and Lancelot are in Scotland for the day with Harry—the newest Arthur, they tell him when he asks.

It’s overwhelming to realize just how many Kingsman agents were lost in Poppy’s attack and how few of them are left. They are like the founders; starting over from the wreckage of a war and scraping together the less damaged parts.

Thinking about it makes Merlin lightheaded and he has to sit down. “It’s a lot to take in,” he explains once he can speak again, offering Vivian a lopsided smile. “I knew what we lost; statistical data and all that. But truly seeing it…” He looks around them—at all of the new, unfamiliar surroundings— and sighs. “It kind of knocks you off your feet. Or foot, in my case.”

She laughs. “Well played,” she tells him. “It’s good that you’re joking about it.”

“It’s either that or drive myself insane,” Merlin replies. He’s glad that those blasted crutches are gone and he’s been fitted with a cane. With some modifications, he thinks it could be equal to the rainmakers they give out to agents. Merlin’s already sketched out some blueprints when he isn’t at physio or being coddled by his family.

Vivian rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, standing up and offering him a hand. “I’m saving the best for last.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Merlin tells her once he’s on his feet and leaning against the cane.

It turns out to be his new lair; he immediately loves it.

 

* * *

 

Merlin’s path doesn’t cross Eggsy’s during the first few weeks he’s back at work.

Granted, he’s busy working on heightening their security systems and other defenses to ensure that someone like Poppy will never be able to destroy them once more. If Merlin isn’t at the shop, he’s at physio or at home and resting per Xavier’s strict orders.

He’s meeting with Vivian and other members of the tech department one afternoon when he hears two pairs of hurried footfalls gallivanting towards them; one decidedly human and the other canine. Merlin glances over his shoulder just in time to see JB barreling into his office, wheezing and yipping excitedly only to be followed by a very harried Harry seconds later.

The pug darts between Merlin’s legs and looks up at him expectantly as Harry shouts, “For goodness sake, JB!”

It’s the first time in a while he’s seen Harry. They’ve been running in a Venn diagram since Merlin’s been back; looping around each other but never long enough for a proper conversation. Without missing a beat, he reaches down and bundles JB into his arms, scratching behind his ear. “Well hello,” he coos. “Fancy seeing you around these parts, hm?”

“My apologies for the interruption,” Harry says, sounding winded and exasperated. “Honestly, JB, Pickle is better behaved than you are and _he’s_ a puppy!” A rumble of chuckles fills the room as JB pointed ignores Harry’s admonishment for attention from Merlin. He curls into a loaf and rolls onto his back, showing off his stomach for more scratches.

“I can bring him back to your office,” Merlin offers as he rubs JB’s belly. “After this meeting, of course.”

Harry sighs, nodding. “If you wouldn’t mind.” He looks at the pug with a scowl. “Don’t think that you’re off the hook just because you’ve managed to charm Merlin.”

JB barks at him. “Oi,” Merlin chastises. “Be nice, you little minx!” The pug whines, widening his eyes to giant brown saucers in apology.

“I _will_ be telling your father about this,” Harry warns. He turns to Merlin, mouthing _thank you_ as he leaves and Vivian resumes the meeting.

Merlin spends the rest of the time with JB in his lap, who displays the good behavior he ought to be giving Harry. The warmth of him is a welcomed memory and makes Merlin realize how much he’s missed having JB’s presence in his flat.

And hearing Eggsy call to him, not realizing that Merlin’s come home and catching them unaware, even if it’s just for a moment.

He feels the pressure of a lump burning in his throat and swallows it down because it would not do for him to sulk over Eggsy in front of his colleagues. They’ve been kind enough not to bring him up by name, only referring to his ex-boyfriend by Galahad.

Even hearing that stings just as much. Then Merlin reminds himself that he’s the one who ended their relationship and that it’s for the best. Allowing resentment to grow like weeds until they were overrun with them wouldn’t do either of them any favors and would only prolong the inevitable.

At least that’s what Merlin tells himself as he and JB walk to Harry’s office. “Now,” he starts, glancing down at the pug, “you really ought to start behaving, especially with Pickle looking up to you for guidance.”

JB yips, disgruntled.

“Oh don’t give me that, JB,” Merlin says. “If you won’t be good for Harry, at least be good for Eggsy.” He pauses as the word falls from his lips and slams into him, stealing the breath from his lungs. Merlin curls a hand around his stomach, inhaling and exhaling until it no longer burns. At his feet, JB looks up at him, head tilted in curiosity. “I’m fine. It just took me by surprise is all. Come along.”

He finds Harry behind his desk, working, while Pickle sits obediently on a dog bed and chews on a squeaky toy. The terrier has grown by a margin from the last time Merlin saw him and is remarkably better behaved than JB; he doesn’t even bark when they come in.

“Harry,” Merlin calls. Harry looks up and smiles when he realizes who it is, then scowls as JB sulks over to him and flops down next to Pickle. “JB and I had a chat on the way over.”

“Oh?” Harry gestures to the chair across from him. “And what was the result of this chat?”

Merlin takes a seat, where he rubs the span of aching muscle fitted into the prosthetic. “I think you’ll expect better behavior out of him from now on.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m delighted,” Harry says, relieved. “And how about you? How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Managing. You?”

“Likewise, especially with these two running about,” Harry replies. “I can’t wait until Eggsy’s back from the States. It’ll be nice to have some human company for a change.”

Merlin’s heart skips a beat. He hadn’t heard about this…from _anyone_.

“I’m starting to feel as if I’m being ganged up on,” his friend continues, chuckling. He must notice the stricken expression on Merlin’s face, for Harry turns serious. “Did Eggsy not tell you?”

He hears a voice inside his head saying  _Eggsy’s living with me now_.

Another, more sinister than the first, whispers _he’s no longer yours to keep_.

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I haven’t spoken to him.” It’s no longer his place.

“Oh,” Harry says, unable to say anything else.

They sit in an awkward silence, staring at each other and leaving too many things unsaid. Merlin’s mobile goes off; it’s Champ’s god awful ringtone and it sounds like music to his ears. “I need to take this,” he tells Harry as he stands up.

“Very well,” is all Harry says. The sadness in his eyes follows Merlin all the way back to his flat later that evening.

 

* * *

 

He hears about Eggsy from time to time, secondhand stories overheard from colleagues who don’t realize that Merlin’s listening in.

It seems he and Tequila are giving both Kingsman and Statesman handlers a run for their money, blazing through assignments in the most unorthodox manner with successful results. The wildcards of both organizations paired together and causing havoc all over the world.

Hong Kong to Honolulu, Auckland to Amsterdam, and so on. The two of them are utterly ridiculous, far too cocky for their own good, and seem to get a thorough dressing down whenever they saunter back into the shop after a twenty-four-hour mandatory rest period.

Merlin happens to overhear one such meeting on pure accident. He’s leaving for the day, having to go to physio and then dinner with Lorna, when he walks into the conference room.

“—expected more from a Kingsman agent of your caliber, Galahad,” Harry fumes through a cracked door.

There’s a gap between Harry’s rant and Eggsy’s voice; perhaps he rolls his eyes or makes that annoyed tone when he knows he’s acting like a wanker, but won’t admit it. “You knew what you was proposin’ when you met me, Harry.”

“It’s _Arthur_ ,” Harry snaps immediately. “Do I need to remind you that this is an _official_ meeting? As in, on the fucking record!”

“Nah, _Arthur_. You don’t,” Eggsy fires back. “But Tequila and me, we finished the mission _ahead of schedule_ with no fuss. So what’s the problem then?”

“The _problem_ is you being reckless and careless with very little regard for your own personal safety! What if something happened to you? What about Daisy or your mother?”

Merlin doesn’t stay for the rest and leaves for his appointments with a sick feeling in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

The first time he encounters Eggsy is an unmitigated disaster.

He and Vivian are going over one of the prototypes for a more comfortable prosthetic with some slick upgrades because he is a Kingsman, after all. Merlin can’t pretend that they haven’t grown closer; he’s usually in her company whenever he’s at the shop or on trips to the distillery. They’ve shared dinners at the pub around the corner and met for drinks after a long week. She’s accompanied Merlin to physio and taken him home when he’s too damn tired to do it himself.

She also kicks his arse when he’s being a maudlin twat and everyone else is afraid to do it. Vivian makes him laugh and he looks forward to her company.

So when Merlin finds himself staring into her warm brown eyes and she’s staring back, he doesn’t think twice about leaning in to kiss her. It’s a gentle, chaste joining of their lips; more fleeting than anything else.

It should be romantic and lovely. It would be if it weren’t for the sound of someone gasping and how they run off, breaking the spell.

Tequila shouts as he rushes by the open door, loud and boisterous as always. “Galahad, man!”

Merlin freezes and thinks _oh no_ as Tequila’s voice booms, “Where are you going? Wait up, man!”

Another set of feet happen by; Roxy appears. She’s starting ahead, confused by the scene until she peers into Merlin’s office and sees them looking back. Disappointment darkens Roxy’s features before she’s off again, undoubtedly to comfort Eggsy.

 

* * *

 

Merlin begins dating Vivian.

Eggsy becomes more reckless.

He hears about it from mission reports or from agents who whisper about it like it’s some big secret. On one such occasion, Champ flies in from Kentucky like a bat out of hell, jet-lagged and pissed off, as heads straight for Harry’s office where he shouts, “Galahad, just what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” before the door slams shut.

It worries Merlin, true, but there isn’t anything he can do about seeing how Eggsy refuses to acknowledge his existence. Meetings with other agents are always tense and if they happen by each other in the corridor, it’s even worse.

Eggsy doesn’t look at Merlin, but _through_ him as if he was a ghost. Seeing his green eyes filled with so much anger and hatred leaves Merlin shaken at first. Then he gets used to it.

And the beginnings of a relationship certainly help with distracting him. Vivian doesn’t pity him and doesn’t treat him any differently. She doesn’t walk on eggshells around him and Merlin appreciates it more than words can say.

Sex with her isn’t anything like it was with Eggsy.

It’s filled with soft, luscious curves and the scent of perfume wafting around them, not the hard lines of another man’s body and the spice of their cologne burning Merlin’s tongue.

She is gentle with how she molds her body to his, hooking her legs under his arse or straddling his thighs. She doesn’t draw attention to his right leg or rake her nails over his back when his cock moves _just right_ or his tongue laps at her folds. Her commands aren’t commands at all, but light, breathy moans when she says _touch me here, just like that, go faster,_ or _go slower_.

They aren’t like the filthy diatribe Eggsy used to whisper into his ear, hot and demanding as he sucked a bruise onto Merlin’s skin. Eggsy who would beg for _harder, deeper bruv, fucking wreck me already_ , or _make it hurt; I want to feel you into next week._

Eggsy who was as greedy as he was generous and Vivian who leaves Merlin dizzy when she tightens up around his cock and cums with a single cry, head thrown back and glorious.

Eggsy who is too sated to move, draping himself over Merlin’s body as cum stains his stomach and between his thighs.

While Vivian curls into him afterward, all sweet and adoring as she rests her head on his shoulder and runs her fingers through his chest hair.

It’s enough to forget about the destructive path Eggsy seems hell-bent on going down. Well, almost.

 

* * *

 

There’s an incident in Sweden where he ends up at the A&E with alcohol poisoning and gets his stomach pumped.

Harry flies to Stockholm to retrieve him and works from home as Eggsy is too ill to be left to his own devices.

Another mishap in Brazil follows not too long after; something that involves a local militia and Eggsy insulting one of their mothers. Merlin isn’t too certain on the details and doesn’t bother asking about that one.

There’s Florence, where Eggsy assists Napoleon Solo in stealing a genuine Titian sketch out of a mafioso’s study for reasons no one can fathom, much to the chagrins of Roxy and Illya Kuryakin. This, of course, is right after a rumor circulates through the shop about an alleged ménage à trois Eggsy had with both U.N.C.L.E agents that Merlin finds utterly implausible because he’s _met_ Illya, for fuck’s sake. The man has had dinner at his flat and would never let another into the bed he and Napoleon share; Illya is as old-fashioned as they come and Napoleon is completely besotted by Illya.

Eggsy who plays dumb when the whole fiasco is brought up during a Round Table meeting. Harry looks like he’s two seconds away from leaping over the table just to throttle the lad because he’s silently raging so. Everyone hides their amusement or dismay behind fists, tablets, or teacups and don’t look either party in the eye.

“ _Galahad_ ,” Harry says, sharply, once the meeting has adjourned. “If you don’t mind staying for a moment.”

Eggsy leans back in his chair, arms folded behind his head and grinning like it’s the funniest shit in the world as Vivian says, “oh boy” in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin watches him as he goes to leave, meeting Eggsy’s stare for a millisecond. It’s long enough to cause the lad’s easy grin to disappear and put Merlin’s stomach in knots.

 _What are you doing_ , he wants to ask. Wants to shout as he shakes Eggsy by the shoulders. _Why are you throwing this all away?_

“Now,” Harry begins as Vivian shuts the door behind them, “what on Earth were you thinking?”

A saying that’s becoming commonplace whenever Eggsy’s in the room.

Merlin doesn’t stay to hear the rest; he doesn’t want to.

 

* * *

 

There are nights where Merlin brushes the surface of consciousness to move closer to Eggsy, expecting him to roll over and fit himself into Merlin’s arms.

It’s Vivian’s body that meets his own, never rolling over or hooking a leg over his hip. She doesn’t snore—she doesn’t make a sound at all—and her hands never find their way up Merlin’s shirt to rub his belly.

Eggsy did those things and Vivian isn’t Eggsy. The revelation alone is shocking, but not enough for Merlin to lose sleep over.

He drifts off once more and dreams of JB between his and Eggsy’s bodies and calloused hands caressing his skin.

 

* * *

 

Six months have passed since he broke up with Eggsy and Merlin is resolute that he _absolutely does not miss him_.

He doesn’t.

(But he really does. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.)

 

* * *

 

A long weekend at his parent’s hunting lodge in Aberdeenshire marks the first time Merlin introduces Vivian to the rest of his family.

It also marks the first time that he acknowledges that this isn’t working.

Everyone likes her well enough, save for Alex who keeps a safe distance from new acquaintances in that sulky, teenaged way of his. He’d rather pay attention to his mobile than the activity around him, including his younger siblings and cousins. The only person he warmed up almost immediately to was, well, Eggsy, who had that uncanny ability to put everyone around him at ease.

Merlin finds Alex in his parent’s study, scrawny limbs draped over a settee his mum purchased ages ago as his nephew texts at lightning speed on his mobile. He comes closer, noticing a pair of trainers on the damask fabric. “Feet, Alexander,” Merlin says, sternly.

Alex scoffs and rolls his eyes as he puts his feet on the carpet. “Not like Nana will notice,” he grumbles.

“Nana _will_ notice,” Merlin tells him as he sits down next to him and ruffles his blond curls. “And she’ll have your bloody hide!”

A pair of blue eyes stares back at him, unimpressed by the warning. “Whatever,” Alex says. “Shouldn’t you be out with the rest of the adults?”

“I can only take so much,” he says with a wink.

“But your girlfriend’s here. What if she needs rescuing?”

He laughs and tries to think of Vivian ever needing rescuing. Merlin left her with Lorna and their sister-in-law as they discussed the ramifications of technology on society, having grown bored of the conversation. “I think she can handle herself,” he assures. “What about you? Why are you hidden away?”

“Too loud,” Alex tells him, pouting. “Plus Lizzie, Sophia, and Laura want to climb all over me. They’re getting too big, you know?”

“Aye, I had the exact same complaint about _you_ when you were their age,” Merlin teases. “Soon you’ll be wondering where all the time went.”

Alex looks at him in disbelief. “Soon I’ll be off at university,” he reminds him. “After my gap year, of course.”

“Of course,” Merlin says.

“Dad said you didn’t take one like him and Aunt Lo.”

“Your dad would be correct.” He rubs his right leg, just over the portion that fits in the prosthetic, a prototype he developed in his spare time. It’s one of his finer inventions that calibrates to offset the weight he would have put on the limb had it not be blown off, making walking without a cane possible. While Harry and Champ were firmly against it having weaponry, it does automatically detect the wearer’s skin tone for a more natural aesthetic, though the cushioning is still a work in progress.

Alex watches, eyes filled with a nervous glint. “Leg bothering you?”

“Just sore. I’m still getting used to moving around without my cane.”

His nephew nods, head bobbing slowly and uncertainty. “Does it hurt much? What’s left of it?”

“On occasion; phantom pains, they call it. My brain hasn’t quite gotten used to my leg being gone.”

“Sounds fucking awful,” Alex tells him.

Merlin nods in agreement. “Aye, you aren’t wrong there, lad.” He nudges Alex with his elbow and grins. “Don’t worry about me. Your Uncle Hamish has dealt with worse, like your dad when he was going through his Flock of Seagulls phase. Had the ridiculous hair and billowy shirts; looked like a fucking lunatic!” His grin widens as Alex bursts out laughing. He changes the topic and asks, “So what do you think of Vivian?”

Alex shrugs. “She’s alright, I guess.”

“You guess?” Merlin says. “You’ve never been one to mince words, Squeaks.”

He scowls at the use of his nickname but doesn’t correct Merlin. “I dunno. She’s nice and all, but…”

“But?”

“I liked Eggsy more, I guess,” Alex admits, cheeks turning pink. He fiddles with the edges of his sleeve cuff and shrugs again. “He was easy to get on with, and you just seemed happier when you were with him.”

He stares at his nephew in stunned silence, neither angry or upset at the observation. Just absolutely stunned. Merlin hasn’t told anyone of growing ache in his chest when he hears Eggsy’s name or sees him in passing at work. Or that his heart speeds up for just a moment when someone makes Eggsy laugh and it travels down the corridor, clear and beautiful like it’s always been.

Or that when he opens his eyes to find Vivian in his bed on the nights she’s stayed over, that he wishes it was Eggsy’s face next to his own.

“Why did you two break up? Was it because he couldn’t handle—” Alex gestures to Merlin’s leg. “You know.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly, recalling their fight and how Eggsy begged and pleaded for them to make things work, how he could handle this. How they could handle it together. “It’s complicated.”

 _I was angry_ , he thinks. _And hurting while all Eggsy wanted to do was help._ “It wasn’t working,” Merlin says, no longer certain of what he’s talking about.

“That’s a bullshit answer if I ever heard one,” Alex says, sounding remarkably like his father.

He doesn’t correct him because Merlin knows he’s right.

 

* * *

 

Merlin wonders about Eggsy; if he acts out to numb his pain or if it's because he feels lost, driftless.

Does he find himself awake at the dead of night, turning over in his bed expecting Merlin to be lying next to him? How does he feel when he comes upon the same empty space, over and over? Does he reach out to trace it with his fingertips, imagining it’s Merlin’s body?

Has he grown bitter and brittle from Merlin’s own selfishness?

Or does he still miss Merlin as much as Merlin’s beginning to realize that he misses Eggsy?

 

* * *

 

It’s been a few weeks since Aberdeenshire as Merlin sits in Vivian’s temporary quarters when he says, “This isn’t working, is it?”

Vivian’s packing to return to Kentucky for an annual meeting with the other Statesman agents. She’s folding one of her blouses and glances at him from over the rim of her glasses. A sweet, gentle smile appears and Vivian shakes her hand. “No, honey,” she answers. She reaches over and takes his hand in her own, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It’s not.”

Something inside him rattles loose and he can breathe easier.

It’s the least dramatic break-up Merlin’s ever experienced and they part as friends.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Merlin,” Harry greets when he comes into the conference room, “I’m glad you could make it on short notice.”

The door has already shut when Merlin realizes there are others. Roxy is already seated, sipping on a cup of tea while Tequila fixes himself and—

Merlin freezes when his eyes meet Eggsy’s, catching him in mid-laughter at something Tequila’s said. They crinkle at the corners of them, his irises brightening to the greenest of greens Merlin’s only dreamt about. The familiar imprint of dimples pulls at the edges of Eggsy’s smile, fading quickly when he sees Merlin.

That horrible mask returns and the room goes unnaturally still.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Harry says, having sensed the charged atmosphere. “And glasses on.”

He sits across from Eggsy and Harry begins to explain the purpose of this meeting. “Agents Lancelot, Galahad, and Tequila have been working in cooperation with U.N.C.L.E and Interpol on uncovering THRUSH locations on the Continent. The mission has had varying degrees of success, as the organization has considerable assets and people working for them.”

“They’re like cockroaches,” Tequila comments, grinning. “Squash one, another pops up!”

“Nah, bruv,” Eggsy says, “you’re thinkin’ of ants. Cockroaches never die. It’ll be ‘em, Twinkies, and bloody Keith Richards at the end.”

Tequila makes a face. “What? Ants? No, man! It’s cockroaches! And who the fuck is Keith Richards?”

“Who the fuck is…” Eggsy looks at Tequila like he’s grown two heads. “Are you fuckin’ for real right now?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Keith Richards, mate. Guitarist, singer, songwriter, foundin’ member of the Rolling Stones!” When the other agent stares at him and shrugs, Eggsy appears as if he might lose control of his temper. “Seriously?”

Tequila holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Are they famous or something?”

“Did you hit your fuckin’ head?” Eggsy hisses as Roxy’s hand shoots out and pushes him back into his seat as she says, “For fuck’s sake, will the two of you shut the fuck up and let Arthur finish?”

“Thank you, Lancelot,” Harry replies, sparing Merlin a _how the fuck did I get this job_ expression. “As I was saying, THRUSH has considerable assets and people. Their agents have recently been spotted scouting potential building sites in Ruse Pyce, several kilometers from the border separating Bulgaria from Romania, where we have a facility. Champagne and I feel that a reconnaissance mission is necessary in order to deter them.”

Merlin nods. “It sounds like a thoroughly executed plan.”

“I agree, which is why agents Lancelot, Tequila, and Galahad will be departing for our Bulgarian counterparts as soon as this meeting has concluded,” Harry says.

Tequila claps delightedly. “Fuck yeah!” He pumps his fist in the air and looks at Eggsy, who is too busy sneaking glares in Merlin’s direction. “You, me, and Bulgaria, man! It’s going to be off the hook!”

“Nothing’s going to be off the hook, _Trevor_ ,” Roxy warns, shooting him a frown as she uses his given name, which of course sounds like it belongs to an overgrown schoolboy. It actually suits him. “You are going to behave, even if it _kills you_ or I _will_.”

He rolls his eyes as he swallows the last bit of his drink, pointing a finger from the hand curled around the tumbler. “You, my friend, are _no_ fun.”

“Might I ask why I’m here?” Merlin inquires, trying to defuse the argument with details pertaining to the assignment. He hasn’t handled many of them since he’s been back, which suits him just fine as he’s been busy with technological upgrades and developing more stringent security methods. “Not that I don’t appreciate the invite—”

Eggsy cuts him off with, “Yeah, I was wonderin’ the same thing.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Where’s whatsherface?”

“Nina, your handler, is otherwise unavailable to oversee this mission,” Harry tells them. “It seems that she has contracted a case of shingles, so I am bringing Merlin in her place.”

Merlin blinks and retorts with “I beg your pardon?” as Eggsy shouts “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“I am completely serious, Galahad, and I remind you to mind your language,” Harry says in a calm tone. He looks at them, his expression honed as finely as a sharpen knife hidden in the folds of his jacket. “Now, will this be a problem?”

 _For both of you_ hangs unsaid in the air. Merlin stares at Eggsy and watches as he turns away when they’ve held each other’s gazes for too long, setting his jaw in a hard, unforgiving line. “No,” Merlin finally answers.

“Good,” Harry replies before focusing his attention on Eggsy. “And you, Galahad? Will this be an issue?”

Eggsy flinches, gnashing his jaw even harder. “No. No problem,” he says, refusing to look at anyone.

“Very well. Then this meeting is adjourned and the three of you are due at the air stripe in one hour.”

Eggsy doesn’t wait for Harry to finish, he bolts from the room and disappears down the corridor with balled fists and red coloring his cheeks.

“That was really awkward,” Tequila stage whispers to Roxy.

She kicks him under the table in reply and Merlin is annoyed he didn’t think of it first.

In the privacy of Harry’s office, Merlin pours himself a drink and finishes in a single swallow before he rails on Harry. “What the _fuck_ are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that you are the most senior member of the technology team and our quartermaster…” Harry begins to answer.

“Oh don’t give me that shit, Harry!” Merlin barks. He looks down at the glass in his hand and wishes he hadn’t been so quick to finish it. “What are you playing at? Are you trying to compromise the mission, because that’s where it’s headed! Eggsy won’t even look at me, let alone speak in my presence. Do you _really_ think he’s going to listen to me?”

Taking a deep breath, Harry removes his glasses to rub the stitched-over eyelid. “I think that he’s becoming too reckless, even for him, and that someone with experience should oversee him while he’s on the ground.”

“Then suspend him! Have Bors take point. I don’t fucking know!”

“Do you think suspending Eggsy until he gets his head out of his arse will do any good?” Harry replies with venom. He’s frowning now as he slaps his glasses back on. “He’s out of fucking control, Hamish! If it isn’t mouthing off or not following orders, Eggsy will just go somewhere else. I don’t suppose you know any of this, hm?”

Merlin gives him a hard look. “No, I do not.”

“That’s because you’ve been otherwise preoccupied with other things,” Harry snarls. “I told you to let him in, to let him help you, but you did the exact opposite! You chucked him to the curb when you both needed each other so fucking badly!” He pauses, composing himself. The flush of outrage disappears from his face, leaving a gentleman in its wake.

It sits heavy between them like a dense fog; foreboding and thick with danger if the wrong steps are taken.

Harry says more softly, “I know that Kingsman does not prepare us for what happens if we don’t die for the cause. It’s a terrible, unfathomable oversight. You are angry for what happened, while Eggsy carries tremendous guilt over it.”

Merlin remains silent.

“He’s acting out, Hamish. In the most dangerous ways. At least we can monitor his activity on this assignment, for what little good it does, and I want you to be the one to do it,” Harry tells him.

“Is that Harry Hart or Arthur speaking?” Merlin asks.

A dimpled smirk appears and it’s the same Harry he remembers meeting so long ago. “Harry Hart,” he replies. He mocks seriousness as Harry has never been able to be so. “And as Arthur, I can’t have two of my best men not able to work together. So get your heads out of your arseholes and act like adults!”

“Aye, captain,” Merlin teases. He rises to leave when he hears Harry saying his name. “Aye?”

“Eggsy still loves you, you know,” Harry tells him. “He’s just too afraid to tell you.”

He doesn’t know what to do with this information. It should feel like elation, to know that Eggsy isn’t completely lost to him. That time could bridge the chasm between them if Merlin grows a pair of bollocks and talks to Eggsy, finally talks to him. Explains what he should have explained so many months ago instead of icing him out.

But right now, Merlin doesn’t know what to do. So he nods.

 

* * *

 

(The moment Eggsy’s face is turned towards the lenses of his fallen glasses, revealing opened, unseeing eyes, Merlin understands what it’s like to have his world fall apart.)

 

* * *

 

“Dammit, Galahad,” Roxy yells over the comms, “I told you to cover access point delta!”

Eggsy doesn’t even bother scoffing or snorting at her; he’s too busy pursuing a THRUSH agent on a stolen motorbike through the Bulgarian countryside. “Well this bloke gettin’ away and you want ‘im to go tell the others that we’ve discovered their next site, then, by all means, I’ll turn around!”

“Turn the _fuck_ around!” Roxy yells as she breaks someone’s arm, then their neck and leaves their corpse on the ground. “Merlin, a little help?”

“Galahad,” he says, “I agree with Lancelot. Return to access point delta and await further instructions. You don’t know if you’re walking into an ambush.”

Then only does Eggsy scoff. “Ambush? There ain’t no one out here, but trees and this stupid fuck, who I’m gonna lose if you two don’t stop yammerin’ in my fuckin’ ear! Tequila, a bit of help, yeah?”

“I hate to say it, man, but I agree with Lancelot and Merlin,” Tequila replies. The clap of gunfire cuts through and another THRUSH agent goes down.

“You’re no fuckin’ help, bruv,” Eggsy growls as he revs the engine and continues on with his chase.

The sound of shattering glass punctures the comms while Merlin watches the headlight on the motorbike sputters and dies after being struck by a bullet. Eggsy flips on the night vision installed in his glasses and fires back, trying to shoot out the THRUSH agent’s tires.

“Galahad,” Merlin warns. “Galahad! I am ordering you back to access point delta right now!”

“And I’m tellin’ _you lot_ that this guy needs a bullet between the eyes,” Eggsy retorts and fires said bullet.

Merlin squeezes the bridge of his nose, realizing that _this_ is what Harry was talking about. The utter lack of rules, regulations, and personal safety. “ _Galahad_! For fuck’s sake! Lancelot, Tequila—what’s the situation with you both?”

“All hostiles down,” Lancelot says. “We are doing a final sweep.”

“Then we blow this fucker sky high!” Tequila adds, sounding a bit too excited about using explosives.

Then again, Merlin isn’t at all surprised. “Once you are finished, please rendezvous with Galahad so he doesn’t get himself killed. I will give you his coordinates.”

“Hey!” Eggsy shouts over the comms. “The fuck? I got this under control!”

Merlin narrows his eyes at the screen, watching as Eggsy’s glasses pick up lurching and swerving as speeding over uneven ground in the dark. “I politely disagree, Galahad,” he says through gritted teeth as a bullet flies passed Eggsy, only missing him because of the acrobatic move he makes to dodge it. “Lancelot, Tequila; I am sending you his real-time coordinates now.”

“On it, Merlin,” Lancelot tells him as Eggsy yells, “You _politely_ disagree? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

He fires again. “I’m right on his tail!”

Merlin checks the satellite image of the area, noting several red spots of unknown origin just across the border. It could be nothing or it could be more THRUSH strongholds; he doesn’t want Eggsy finding out. “Galahad, you’re coming up hot,” Merlin warns. “Stand down!”

“He’s _right_ in front of me!” Eggsy insists as a bullet pings off the handlebars.

“Galahad, stand down!” Merlin demands, his accent growing thicker with his frustration and worry. “That’s a direct order, you hear me, laddie?”

Eggsy pretends not to as he gathers speed and comes up the THRUSH agent’s side, leaping from his motorbike to the other one. The world tilts as they crash, both of them flipping over the vehicle and onto the ground with bone-shattering force. Merlin hears their grunts of pain and the whine of the bike as it collides with a tree, exploding.

The fiery blaze illuminates Eggsy’s fist as he quickly gains the upper hand, punching the other man in the face and grabbing his gun. Seconds later, a neat bullet hole makes itself at home in the THRUSH agent’s skull.

“See,” Eggsy says with bravado as he sets the safety on the gun, “I had it under control.”

“I’d hardly say that counts as under control, Galahad,” Merlin growls. “What you did was violate a direct order to stroke your own ego when you put yourself and your fellow agents at risk!”

He can’t see Eggsy’s face, but he hears the rush of oxygen exiting his nostrils as he begins walking in the direction of Lancelot and Tequila. “We put ourselves at risk all of the fuckin’ time! Or did you forget that while you’ve been sittin’ pretty back at HQ?”

“There are procedures we must follow to ensure the best possible outcome,” Merlin begins to tell him.

“Oh? Was it procedure when you pushed me off that landmine to sacrifice yourself?” Eggsy snarls.

Merlin feels like someone’s doused him in freezing cold water. Or that he’s been punched in the face by Tequila again, knocking him so hard that his original diatribe disappears. “That was different and you know it.”

“How? How was that fuckin’ different, bruv?” Eggsy challenges. “That you get to ream me out for doin’ my job instead of blamin’ me for something _you_ did?”

Harry’s voice interrupts them, “As pleasing as it is that you two are _finally_ speaking about this, might I—”

“Shut up, Harry!” both of them yell. Merlin turns his attention back to Eggsy. “What I did was never a choice for me.”

“Yeah, you said that, bruv,” Eggsy grumbles. “When you was breakin’ up with me!”

Merlin groans, wishing he still had enough hair so he could tear it from his skull. “I should have never resented you for my actions or what they resulted in,” he admits. “I should have talked to you about it, about everything instead of…”

“You promised me that you would never leave me,” Eggsy reminds him, his voice shrill and hurt and heartbroken. “You fuckin’ promised! Why did you do it?”

“Because this world isn’t worth living in without you in it, Eggsy,” Merlin yells, not caring that they have an audience or that it will be on official Kingsman records. “Because I fucking love you!”

Eggsy doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, I fuckin’ love—”

The sound of gunfire cuts him off, clapping over the comms and flashing in front of Eggsy’s glasses. Once, twice, three times and the world sways. Upwards towards the night sky where the moon hangs, showering the land with its silvery light and down again, falling faster than the scenery blurs together and concludes with a thud.

Eggsy’s glasses dislodge themselves from his face, bouncing several times before one final wobble in the dirt. Beyond them is Eggsy with his limbs outstretched and face tilted away.

“Eggsy?” Merlin says, breaking the silence. “Galahad? Galahad, do you hear me?”

Nothing, save for the sound of boots in the dirt and engines charging closer. Another gunshot goes off and the boots topple over, only a sliver in sight of the glasses.

“Galahad?” Merlin repeats, checking all of the monitors. “Lancelot, Tequila?”

“On it,” Tequila says, already running towards Eggsy, who isn’t wearing his tac-jacket—the one with the kevlar threading hidden within the fabric that he must have lost during the melee.

“Is he alive?” Roxy shouts, panicked as she follows behind Tequila. “Is he alive?”

Tequila’s already on his knees and assessing Eggsy, swearing in the darkness and turning Eggsy into view. Roxy screams, muffling it with her own hand. 

The moment Eggsy’s face is turned towards the lenses of his fallen glasses, revealing opened, unseeing eyes, Merlin understands what it’s like to have his world fall apart.

Because seconds ago, they were having one hell of a row—the fight they should have had before Merlin decided to end their relationship—and the next, gunfire canceled out Eggsy’s voice. The clap, clap, clap of bullets exiting the barrel of a gun and of someone being hit by them.

“No,” Roxy whimpers in disbelief. “No…”

Merlin can’t breathe, can’t do anything as Tequila begins chest compressions on Eggsy’s limp body. “Call in a medical evac,” he says, winded. He tilts Eggsy’s chin up and pries his mouth open. “Roxy, call it in!” he yells and does mouth-to-mouth, then switching back to compressions.

The world slips, pulling Merlin under as Roxy makes contact with Lamorak. He has no idea what she tells their colleague; he just hears her anguished cries over the comms and they could be wordless for all he knows.

 _I think he’s dead_ , she might sob.

 _He ain’t dead until I say he’s dead, sweetheart,_ he thinks Tequila grunts as his blood-soaked hands press down on Eggsy’s chest in rapid succession.

Someone shouts for an ETA while Tequila breathes into Eggsy’s mouth again. His chest rises with the effort and falls when Tequila pulls away.

“Two minutes,” Lamorak yells over the steady thump of helicopter rotors. “The surgical team’s preparing the operating theater.”

Tequila says something, Merlin isn’t sure what. Perhaps one of his famous, poorly timed quips to lighten an otherwise harrowing situation. He’s pumping Eggsy’s chest when Merlin watches Eggsy lurch, jerking up like he’s been shocked and coughs, spraying the side of Tequila’s face and glasses with blood.

A soft cry escapes Merlin’s lips as the scene transpires—blood dribbling from Eggsy’s mouth, the horrible wet, gurgling sound he makes when he breathes—and thinks _holy shit, why is this happening?_ Eggsy blinks up at Tequila, into the glasses, wheezing with each breath.

“Galahad, buddy.” Tequila’s removing his jacket to staunch the bleeding from his wounds. “Hey. Can you hear me, G-man?” He talks over the ragged sounds Eggsy’s making. “You gotta keep breathing, okay? Lamorak is going to be _pissed_ if he wastes a helicopter trip on you.”

Merlin stares in a pair of green eyes, dazed and watery, as they stare at back him. Eggsy must know that he’s watching— _he must_ —because it’s what he had done back in Cambodia. There’s no singing or guards trying to attack them, just Tequila’s voice, Roxy’s sobs, and the sound of blood in Eggsy’s lungs.

Tequila assures someone—maybe Roxy, maybe Merlin himself—that Eggsy will be fine because the helicopter is close by. _Eggsy is as stubborn as they came and he would be damned if he went out this way._ Footsteps hit the ground, rushing towards them as Lamorak barks orders at the medics, who push Tequila out of the way to stabilize Eggsy for transport.

Eggsy’s green eyes flutter in full view of the glasses before they shut as he mouths Merlin’s name on bloodstained lips.

He can’t handle any more of it and screams and screams. Until his voice is hoarse, his throat’s raw, and Merlin realizes Harry is standing behind him, face ashen and haunted. “They’re preparing the jet,” he says.

Merlin nods; he doesn’t need to tell Harry that he’s going with him.

 

* * *

 

He blinks, finding himself on the jet without the memory of coming here in the first place.

One moment Merlin was staring at Harry, both of them shell-shocked, and the next he’s seated across from him. Engines hum under his brogues as they fly to Kingsman’s Romanian facilities just outside of Bucharest in the early hours of the morning.

Merlin removes his glasses, no longer able to listen to the pandemonium on the other end, and heads towards the lavatory. The shouting match between Lamorak and the head surgeon or Tequila whispering into Roxy’s ear as she sobs and watches the helicopter carry their friend’s ruined body back to base. He can’t listen to any of it; not even Harry’s soft voice as he’s kept apprised of the situation on the ground.

Pulling the door open and shutting it behind him, Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, feeling them burn behind his lids as he braces his hands on the sink. His fingers squeeze the countertop where he sees Eggsy with blood on his lips and filling up his lungs in the darkness. Merlin wonders if Eggsy had felt this numb when Merlin blew himself up.

Perhaps it was how he managed to take down Charlie and Poppy; being so numb that all motions became robotic. That he functioned on pure adrenaline and disassociated himself in order to save the world.

Or was it all pure, unadulterated pain that drove him? Was Eggsy screaming with it as he pulled the trigger or threw a punch? Merlin never asked him; in all honesty, he hadn’t bothered to and now he wishes he had because right now, he isn’t sure how he’s still breathing.

Every lungful aches and he swears the next may be his last, but they keep coming. Merlin opens his eyes and finds a paler version of himself staring back in the mirror. He looks as if he’s aged in the last hour; he feels wearier than before, heavier with burden.

If they hadn’t been arguing—if Eggsy hadn’t been so _fucking stubborn_ and gone off towards uncertainty without waiting for back-up—Eggsy might not have gotten wounded.

 _Nearly killed_ , a voice inside Merlin’s head whispers and he breaks.

Burying his face in his hands, Merlin sobs. His body shakes with them, trembles as he sinks to his knees in the small, compact space and tries to breathe through his grief. They come out faster than he can take them in, punched out by his helpless whimpers.

Merlin thinks he may very well die from heartbreak if Eggsy doesn’t—

He doesn’t finish the thought— _he can’t_ —because Eggsy _has to make it_. He has to live because this isn’t that type of movie. Eggsy will wake up with Merlin at his bedside and they’ll slowly rebuild their relationship from the ashes, just like the tailor shop.

Eggsy will live and they’ll be all right and—

“Hamish,” Harry calls as he bangs on the lavatory door. “If you’re quite done, I have an update from Gregory.”

Gregory, Lamorak’s given name. Merlin blinks, the lavatory coming into sharp focus. He must have been gone for a while if Harry’s come to look for him.

“I’ll be a moment,” he calls back. Harry’s oxfords click as he walks away, leaving Merlin alone once more. With a grunt, he pulls himself up and smoothes his hands over his trousers, brushing away the wrinkles before turning on the sink to splash his face with water.

Patting his face dry with a paper towel, Merlin spares himself a glance and winces. He’s a fucking mess of splotchy cheeks and red eyes, but it will have to do.

When he returns to the main cabin, Harry is standing at the bar where he’s finished pouring what Merlin suspects is a martini into a highball glass. Its twin sits, filled and accompanied by speared olives, next to it.

“I thought a drink would be appropriate,” Harry says as he cleans up the mess and pushes one of the glasses towards Merlin. “I added a splash of Vermouth just for you.”

Merlin nods, unable to bring himself to crack a grin. “Thank you,” he replies.

Together, they clink their glasses in a silent toast and drain them. Merlin smacks his lips together as the burn of alcohol recedes. “See you haven’t lost your touch.”

“A gentleman always remembers how to make a proper martini,” Harry retorts. He takes the glasses behind the bar and produces two more filled with water. “The surgical team finished removing the bullet from Eggsy’s right lung and are stabilizing the bleeding there and in his stomach.”

He nearly collapses and stands there with his head hanging between his shoulders until Merlin thinks he can speak again. “And?”

“The ones in his stomach are serious, but not life-threatening. Gregory said the biggest concern is the lung and blood loss,” Harry tells him, eyeing Merlin with concern. “We should know more in another hour.”

Merlin deposits himself on a stool and drops his head onto his folded arms. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs.

A warm hand touches his elbow, squeezing it. “Hamish,” Harry says.

“I don’t want to hear it, Harry,” Merlin grumbles.

“ _Hamish_ ,” Harry says more sharply this time, causing Merlin to look up. “It will be alright.”

Merlin frowns at him. “And if it isn’t?” he challenges as the tears return. “How will I forgive myself, hm? If we hadn’t been…”

Words become too much and he can’t finish. Harry nudges his chin before rubbing the top of his head. “You can’t think like that.”

“It’s _all_ I can think about,” Merlin confesses. He reaches up with a trembling hand to wipe his face. “And the way I’ve treated him.” Swallowing back a sob, Merlin bites down on his bottom lip and shakes his head. “Eggsy deserved better than what I gave him.”

Harry tilts his head in gentle consideration and slides his hand down to grasp one of Merlin’s own. “None of us have that foresight when we’re in the thick of it,” he tells him. “I certainly didn’t when I left for Kentucky.”

“Clearly you two buried the hatchet.”

“We have,” Harry says, his expression becoming unreadable. “Though sometimes I wonder…”

Merlin raises a brow. “You wonder what?” When Harry doesn’t answer, he frowns. “Come on, Harry. It’s not like you to be coy.”

This comment earns one of Harry’s patent scowls as he bristles and his cheeks turn pink. “ _Sometimes_ ,” he says with dramatic flair, “I wonder if all of Eggsy’s acting out isn’t our punishments for hurting him so deeply.”

It’s such a profound statement, that Merlin has no doubt in his mind that Harry is correct. Though he certainly won’t _tell him that_. “I hate it when you _might_ be right,” Merlin grumbles. He snatches one filled with water and brings it to his mouth. “You fucking maudlin twat.”

“Maudlin twat? Who was the cunt crying his eyes out in the lavatory?” Harry points out, indignant and haughty.

They stare at each other for a loaded moment before breaking out into laughter. Leave it to them to end up bickering like school children.

“He’s going to live,” Harry tells Merlin later once they’ve sat back down in the plush leather seats inside the main cabin. “I doubt Eggsy will give up so easily now that you admitted that you still love him.”

Merlin’s too tired to argue and says, “Aye, that I do.”

 

* * *

 

When they land on the airstrip located three kilometers from the Romanian Kingsman branch, Merlin and Harry are quickly escorted to the medical wing.

Situated in a quiet room off the main corridor are Lamorak, Tequila, and Roxy—all of them exhausted and solemn as they wait for news on Eggsy. The air is thick with anticipation and dread and Merlin cannot blame them. It’s a harrowing night for everyone.

Lamorak stands off to the side, glancing out the window to watch the sun rise over the horizon while Tequila has his arm slung over Roxy’s shoulders in comforting, dwarfing her with his size.

The weariness in his eyes and the downward pull of his mouth isn’t a good look for the American, who is usually jovial and boisterous and _so infernally loud_ that one can hear him from the tailor shop to the below-ground levels of HQ. Blood stains his neck and glasses, though it’s evident Tequila tried to wash off it hastily so he could be with the others.

Roxy glances up at their approaching footsteps, pale and miserable, and freezes when she realizes Merlin has accompanied Harry. The change in her body language alerts Tequila, who watches them warily. Certainly, neither of them expected Merlin to come; he doesn’t blame them after the way he’s acted.

“Arthur,” Roxy says, nodding her head in greeting. “Merlin,” she says more carefully.

Lamorak pulls himself away from the window to shake Harry’s hand. “We haven’t heard anything since the last update,” he tells them, having contacted Harry when they were a half hour outside of Bucharest with news that the surgical team had controlled the active bleeding in Eggsy’s body and there hadn’t been any blood in the respirator.

It’s small but promising. And not nearly enough for any of them to rest more easily.

“Well,” Harry replies unhappily, “I suspect we’ll just have to exercise extreme patience.” He takes a seat and unbuttons his suit jacket.

Merlin joins him, grunting as his right leg aches in protest. He hasn’t done his stretches and exercises or taken off the prosthetic as he should. _Extenuating circumstances_ , Merlin reasons while settling in for the long haul. He plans on waiting here until Eggsy is out of surgery and they know more about his condition.

The room falls into a consuming, exhausted silence where no one meets each other’s eyes. Roxy puts up a valiant fight against sleep for another hour until her head droops against Tequila’s shoulder and she nods off. He begins yawning shortly after, followed by Lamorak.

“Perhaps we should arrange for rooms for those three,” Merlin whispers to Harry as he watches the spectacle.

Harry nods in agreement. “I’ll be right back,” he says. Harry disappears for a half hour, in which Lamorak makes himself comfortable in another seat and dozes off, snoring softly.

“Where did Harry go?” Tequila asks. He rubs his eyes and blinks, trying to keep his fatigue at bay.

“He went to see about getting rooms for the three of you,” Merlin tells him. “So you can rest.”

Tequila scratches at his forehead. “What about you two?”

“We’ll stay down here, in case there is any news.”

The younger man’s eyes narrow. “You’ll let us know, right?” Next to him, Roxy readjusts her head on his shoulder. Tequila’s fingers flex tenderly around her bicep to keep her in place as she sleeps. The gesture isn’t possessive, but gentle and kind; as if Roxy is a precious object in danger of breaking. “If you hear anything about Eggsy,” he adds.

“Of course,” Merlin promises. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Harry appears not long after with one of the Romanian Kingsman agents at his side, a tall woman with fiery red hair that reminds Merlin of Poppy Adams for a brief moment. Her face is open and friendly, even this early in the morning, as she converses with Harry in low voices.

“This Ecaterina,” Harry says, introducing her. She smiles brightly. “She will be our liaison while we enjoy the Romanian branch’s hospitality.”

Ecaterina extends her hand to Merlin. “I wish your fellow agent a speedy recovery,” she tells him in a charming lilt. Her blue eyes wander to Tequila, who nudges Lamorak awake while Roxy continues sleeping. “Come. We have prepared rooms for your stay and brought in your belongings from the jet. I understand you didn’t have time to see them upon your arrival.”

“We had a very small window of opportunity,” Lamorak explains in a quiet voice as he stands. He holds out his hand to Tequila, who passes him Roxy’s jacket and lifts her into his arms without disturbing her.

Ecaterina nods. “ _Înţeleg_ , I understand,” she says, gesturing her hand with a flourish towards the corridor of which she and Harry came from. “If you’d follow me.”

They depart, leaving Merlin and Harry alone to wait. Another hour passes and the sun streams through the windows, painting the walls pink; not that Merlin really notices. He’s too busy fretting over Eggsy.

“Fucking leg,” he grumbles, rubbing at it again. “Can’t even pace properly while we wait.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You could if you weren’t such a prat about the pain.”

“You try running around in this thing all bloody day,” Merlin fires back; his tone lacks real bite. “Too bad these seats aren’t comfortable enough to fall asleep in.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Waiting rooms aren’t meant to be comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering what we do in them.”

A half hour crawls by and the doors to the surgical wing open as a man—younger than himself or Harry—walks through them in a fresh pair of scrubs. Dark circles cling to below his eyes; unsurprising considering he’s spent the night operating. “I am Dr. Ionescu,” he says as he introduces himself.

“Arthur and Merlin from the United Kingdom branch,” Harry replies. “You have news about Galahad?”

“ _Da,_ he is out of the operating theater and currently being situated in the recovery ward. The gunshot wound to his lung was the most concerning; a few more millimeters and it would have struck the right atrium. Galahad would have bled out and we would not be having this conversation,” Ionescu says, frankly.

Merlin feels lightheaded upon hearing this. A few millimeters and Eggsy could have been dead. “When can we see him?”

“Once Galahad is awake,” Ionescu replies, “which should be in a few hours. Just enough time for you both to get some rest or coffee. It’s up to you.”

They decide on coffee because sleep will not come for either of them, no matter how tired they are. The cafeteria is quiet this early in the morning and perfect for their purposes.

He and Harry sit across from each other, nursing their strong, Turkish-styled coffee with a traditional Romanian breakfast between them. They eat despite not being hungry, picking at the plate with their fingers.

“He told me about you two,” Harry says suddenly. He meets Merlin’s curious stare and shrugs. “When Eggsy moved in with me. He and JB showed up on my doorstep, really, with all their things in tow. Asked if they could stay there for a while.”

Merlin sets down his cup. “I wondered how that happened. You’ve never been one to want other people in your space.”

“Long ago, perhaps,” Harry agrees. A sad smile tugs at his mouth. “But you will probably find it unsurprising that I’ve come to love Eggsy like a son—had I decided to settle down and start a family of my own, that is.” He pauses, his eyes brightening as he thinks of lost opportunities and of Eggsy, who’s filled that void. Harry clears his throat. “It took him a few days to tell me. We were walking JB and Pickle when he began talking. He said you were— _are_ —the love of his life and he didn’t want anyone else. That he had no idea what to do now that you two weren’t together. Eggsy turned to me and said ‘I have no idea how I’m still breathing without him.’”

Tears pool at Merlin’s waterline and fall down his cheeks when he blinks. Sniffling, he brushes them away.

“You know I am the last person in the world to give relationship advice,” Harry continues, “but he looked so lost. I told him that you are the stubbornest cunt I’ve ever met, but I _know_ you and you would pull your head out of your arsehole eventually. You were devastated and just need time.”

Merlin covers his mouth with his hand and nods. “You were right,” he says, lips trembling. “But I should have listened to you and Nigel and just _talked to him_ instead of…” He swallows back a sob. “I really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“I’d say it’s a moderately sized fuck up,” Harry answers, dimples deepening as he grins.

Despite his tears, Merlin chuckles. He grabs the paper napkins on the table and wipes his face. “I fucking missed you, Harry.”

“Likewise,” his friend says. “It _will_ be all right, Hamish.” Their glasses ping with a message from Dr. Ionescu. “It seems that we are needed.”

Ionescu meets them outside the elevator, his face tight with concern as he confers with a nurse. They look at Merlin and Harry as the doors spring open and it fills Merlin’s stomach with dread. “There has been a complication,” he says before either of them can ask. “Galahad is in a coma.”

 

* * *

 

“You should prepare yourself,” Ionescu tells them as they walk down a quiet corridor, “when you enter Galahad’s room.”

After alerting Lamorak, Roxy, and Tequila of Eggsy’s condition, they ran down from the guest suites, wearing only their sleep clothes to join Merlin and Harry for Dr. Ionescu’s debriefing. No one spoke as the doctor explained that blood loss— and the few minutes in which Eggsy was clinically dead—resulted in a coma. He described what they should expect when they see him, from the ventilator to the assortment of tubes and machines surrounding his hospital bed.

He thinks of Belarus, of all things; when Eggsy was captured during a mission and forcibly injected with heroin. After a period of detox, Merlin went to see him and stayed by his bedside, patiently waiting for Eggsy to come out of sedation. It happened so shortly after they defined things between them; he remembers the chill of fear in his body when Roxy came to inform him and the red he saw as Merlin went through a drug lord’s remote cabin to rescue Eggsy. For someone as solitary as he, Merlin had been surprised by his own reaction and how easily he would risk life and limb for the lad.

Something he forgot when he woke up in a Statesman hospital room and only just remembered.

“I can only allow one of you at a time,” Ionescu says with a note of sympathy.

Roxy goes first—she’s his best friend, after all—after Tequila gives her a reassuring smile and disappears behind the closed door. None of them are going to rush her because, frankly, the fact of how close they came to losing each other is still heavy on their minds and the night’s events follow too soon on its heels. She comes out with red, puffy eyes and stained cheeks and goes to Tequila’s awaiting arms to quietly sob into his broad chest. While Lamorak goes to pay his respects, Tequila whispers something to Harry and escorts Roxy back to the guest wing.

Confused by their retreating figures, Merlin turns to Harry. “He said he would come by later,” Harry quietly explains. “He wanted to make sure Miss Morton was alright.”

“Very kind of him,” Merlin says. “And not what I expected of him when we first met.” Seeing how the first time he met Tequila, the American proceeded to knock him unconscious with a kick to the head and then bind him to a chair with zip ties. It was the worst sort of first impression.

“Trevor is full of surprises,” Harry agrees.

Lamorak returns shortly after. He looks wrung out as he bids them goodnight and walks away, shoulders hunched and expression tight with concern. He had been one of the agents who came with Merlin to Belarus, guns blazing and ready to commandeer the jet if they had to.

Harry’s voice punctuates his observations of how much Eggsy’s injuries have affected them all. “Do you want to go next?”

His mind loops through the times Eggsy came back after a mission, tired and, perhaps, a bit bruised when he stepped out of the cab or off the jet. His eyes would seek Merlin out, flashing him a smile or a wink before walking into the circle of his embrace and sigh with relief. Sometimes he needed to go by medical to patch up minor injuries, but usually, they would go home so Eggsy could dote upon JB and fall into their bed once he showered. They’d order delivery and watch the telly with JB lying between them as if they were just another couple and not super spies.

Such wonderful, fleeting memories and now Merlin would give anything to have them instead of this. “You should,” he says after a moment.

He notices Harry’s hesitation and wonders if he’ll ask if Merlin is sure. “ _Go_ ,” Merlin insists before he loses his nerve. If the other man doesn’t, Merlin will most certainly monopolize his time. He has so much to say to Eggsy, even if he doesn’t hear it. He’ll just say it again when he wakes.

Because Eggsy _will_ wake up, and Merlin will have a second chance to fix the mess he’s made of things.

He resolutely ignores the ache of his right leg as he waits for Harry. The limb, what’s left of it anyhow, hasn’t had such vigorous use since the day Merlin stepped on the landmine in Eggsy’s stead. Physio has him building up his mobility, which will never be the same as it once was even with the tricked out Kingsman prosthetic attached to it.

Merlin will certainly never see field action again, which is fine by him. He’s preferred completing his service behind the safety of computer monitors, anyways.

How long he waits, Merlin doesn’t know. Time is slow going anyways since they touched down in Romania; what’s a little longer?

When Harry makes a reappearance, it’s clear he’s shed more than a few tears. He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and nods. “He’s waiting.”

Steeling himself, Merlin walks through the door and into the sterile environment of Eggsy’s room. Filled with the distinct smell of antiseptic and soft beeps of medical equipment, Merlin enters a world of blinding white walls. He hates hospitals, now even more so because Eggsy is here—

Merlin stops when he finds the bed and Eggsy tucked into it. He stares for a moment, taking in the image of Eggsy lying there surrounded by machines, including the one breathing for him, and with an endotracheal tube fastened between his pale lips.

God, he’s _so pale_.

Save for small cuts and some bruising on his face, Eggsy’s skin is colorless, lifeless, and Merlin has to swallow back the bile creeping up his throat.

This is what Eggsy went through when Merlin was recovering from his injuries; this pitless horror and desperation for everything to turn out alright. Why Eggsy tried so _fucking hard_ because he nearly lost him. Fitting that Merlin has found himself in similar circumstances.

He goes to the chair next to Eggsy’s bedside and sits down where Roxy, Lamorak, and Harry have already been. It’s still warm from the last user, whereas Eggsy’s outreached hand is cool to the touch when Merlin takes it in his own. His fingers curl against Merlin’s only as they've been manipulated, but otherwise remain slack as Merlin traces them.

It’s a wonder he’s not crying, seeing how he was doing so not that long ago. Perhaps his body has run out of tears to shed or he’s shell-shocked with grief. Bringing Eggsy’s hand to his mouth, Merlin runs his lips over rough, abraded knuckles.

He thinks of the wedding bands that belonged to his grandfathers on both sides of the family—Hamish MacGregor, his mum’s dad, and Malcolm Greaves, his father’s father—and how he asked his parents for them not long before Poppy Adams set his world on fire. Merlin had planned on asking Eggsy to marry him, using one of the rings to slide onto his finger when he said yes.

“Eggsy,” he whispers like a confession. His other hand goes to Eggsy’s mussed up hair and brushes it off his forehead. “I don’t know where you are right now, but I think you can hear me.” Merlin scoots closer, bringing his mouth to the hollow of Eggsy’s ear.

The fading scent of his cologne meets Merlin’s nostrils. _Fuck_ , he’s missed that smell! He pauses to inhale it and commit it to memory after so long of going without. Tears come, pouring down his cheeks as Merlin says, “You need to come back, do you understand? You have to because this isn’t how you and I end. Not like this, _a ghràidh_. You’re not getting off this easily; we have an argument to settle—”

A sob rattles loose from his chest. Merlin closes his eyes, burying his face in Eggsy’s neck. “And I have to fix this mess I’ve made of us. Please come back,” he whimpers.

Merlin doesn’t know how long he stays that way—with his face pressed into Eggsy’s body while he cries and cries until he thinks his heart might break—and he doesn’t care as he sits up, sniffling.

“Come back to me,” he begs.

 

* * *

 

The ventilator machine hiccups after four days, signaling the beginning of Eggsy’s reemergence to the world.

 

* * *

 

Merlin isn’t in the room when Eggsy’s eyes blink open, delirious and glazed over.

He had been banished to the guest wing to rest, which he did begrudgingly. Merlin’s spent most of his time with Eggsy, waiting for him to come around. The day after the breathing tube was removed had been largely uneventful; Eggsy rested through the cycle of people gathered around his bedside and medical staff checking the progress of his vital signs.

That’s when Harry approached Merlin, holding a paper cup of tea as an olive branch. “It’s just for one night,” he said, watching as he took a sip. “Roxy will stay with him, and if anything happens, I’ll come fetch you myself.”

The fact that Merlin wasn’t even arguing about it made him realize how much he needed a proper bed and more than two to three-hour stretches of sleep. “Just for a night,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “I promise you can continue on with your self-flagellation on the morrow.”

“You’re lucky we’re in a hospital in case I want to punch your lights out,” Merlin grumbled before they ventured to the guest wing.

Harry comes to find him after Roxy called him with panic in her voice. “He’s not quite awake,” Harry explains as they rush to Eggsy’s room. “But he’s confused.”

“Confused?” Merlin echoes. “He doesn’t remember what happened?” His heart stirs uncomfortably at the notion and of the possibility that Eggsy doesn’t recall their argument.

That he won’t remember Merlin telling him that he loves him, which makes him feel ill.

“Not exactly,” Harry says as they wait for the elevator to bring them to the critical care unit, where Eggsy’s been staying. “He thinks you were shot. Roxy tried to tell him otherwise, but Eggsy is adamant.”

Merlin groans, scrubbing his face with his hand as the elevator dings and the doors open. “Fucking hell!”

They hurry, as quickly as a man with one working eye and another with a prosthetic leg can. It’s a strange relief to stand outside Eggsy’s hospital room and hear his voice. Merlin steps inside to find Roxy crowded over him, holding one of his hands with her own while her other one cards through his Eggsy’s while she tries her best to calm him. His nasal cannula is hanging off one ear as he tries to remove it with clumsy fingers before Roxy stops him.

“Eggsy,” she says, gently pushing him back down to the pillows after a half-hearted attempt to get out of the bed. “It’s alright.”

Bleary-eyed and delirious, Eggsy shakes his head as she tries to fit the cannula back into place. “Rox,” he slurs, pushing her hands away. “Have to go. I have to go…Merlin…”

“Merlin’s fine,” Roxy insists. Reaching for his chin, she turns his face to hers and holds it there with both hands so Eggsy can focus on her. “Hey, look at me. Merlin’s safe, Eggsy; _you_ were the one who got shot.”

He wheezes and makes another attempt to dodge the nasal cannula. “No, Merlin needs me. Saw him…”

Merlin clears his throat, earning Roxy’s attention; her exasperated expression fades to a relieved one. “Eggsy,” she says as he and Harry come closer. “Look. It’s Merlin.” Eggsy’s gaze finds him, squinting at him in deep consideration before his eyes widen. “See, he’s just fine. Not a scratch on him, right, Merlin?”

“Not a scratch,” he replies, his stare unwavering. “Looking good, Eggsy.”

“But,” Eggsy starts to say, blinking owlishly. “But you were _there_. I saw you…you got shot.” He tries to move closer until his own body stops him. Clutching his stomach as Roxy eases him back down to the pillows, Eggsy winces. “Oh, fuck me!”

Roxy shakes her head. “That would be _your_ healing gunshot wounds,” she tells him.

“My what?” Eggsy rasps.

“You were shot,” Roxy says. She runs her fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead as Eggsy’s brows knit together in confusion. Tilting her head, she asks, “Do you remember?”

He turns to Merlin, looking terribly lost. “I saw Merlin…he was singin’,” Eggsy’s voice trails off. “That don’t sound right.”

“We were doing recon on a THRUSH site in Bulgaria. You, me, and Trevor,” Roxy explains as she holds Eggsy’s hand. “It was right across the border from Romania. Do you remember?”

“There was a motorbike,” Eggsy says tiredly. “And Merlin…we were arguin’, yeah?”

“We were,” Merlin carefully replies, moving closer to Eggsy until he’s standing at the end of the bed.

“I was angry with you for stepping on the landmine,” the younger man recalls. His eyelids begin drooping with fatigue. He looks like he could doze off at any second. “And you told me that you love me.”

He swallows hard and nods. “Aye, I did.”

“Always knew you was a sappy fuck,” Eggsy mumbles before he falls asleep.

The comment is quintessential Eggsy and Merlin doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or, even, _both_.

“Well,” he says, “he’s forty-eight hours out of a coma and already pointing out my character flaws. I’d say that the odds of Eggsy making a full recovery are quite high.”

 

* * *

 

They sit by Eggsy’s bedside in shifts, ensuring that someone is there when he’s able to pull himself from the depths of unconsciousness.

His confusion varies and leaves whoever’s there to explain what happened once more. Other times he rambles in his sleep, mentioning events long passed or confusing them with the present. Merlin’s heard him say ‘get the gun’, ‘they’re after us’, and ‘viva las vegan’, which he has to ask Harry about.

“It was the password to the drones,” Harry explains as they sit next to the bed, watching Eggsy rest. “A terrible pun on Viva Las Vegas.”

Merlin makes a face. “You have to hand it to her for ingenuity. Most drug cartel leaders would use numbers.”

“I’d prefer to give credit to those who don’t try to kill off most of the world’s population by poisoning recreational drugs,” Harry replies. “And who don’t have landmines placed outside of their home for my friends to step on.”

He snorts at Harry’s indigence over his well-being and pats his shoulder. “You know I would do it again in a heartbeat to keep Eggsy safe.”

“Given our profession, _safe_ is a relative term.”

Eggsy wakes the following evening when it’s just him and Merlin in the room. Merlin hears him snuffle as he reviews some specifications for a new generation of rainmakers and glances up, noticing that Eggsy’s eyes have lost that unfocused glint. He sets his tablet down and moves closer, watching as Eggsy looks around and tries to sort out his surroundings.

His eyes find Merlin’s face and blink in surprise.

“Hello,” Merlin says.

“Hi,” Eggsy says back, his voice hoarse from his ordeal. He shifts under the blankets, wincing as his injuries pull. He touches them through his hospital gown, raising a brow. “What the fuck happened?”

Merlin swallows before answering; he and everyone else has had to explain this to Eggsy before only for him to forget. “You were shot during a recon mission in Bulgaria.”

“At the THRUSH facility,” Eggsy says. He glances down at himself to see tubes and wires attached to him. He touches the IV port embedded on the back of his hand. “Was anyone else hurt?” he asks, looking at Merlin.

He shakes his head. “Just the one.”

“That’s me fucked, then,” Eggsy sighs, shifting his body and wincing. “How long have I been lyin’ here? My back is killin’ me!”

“A little over a week,” Merlin answers. He helps Eggsy sit up and then begins rearranging the pillows behind him. “You were comatose for four days, then in and out of consciousness for another three.” Once he’s done, Merlin eases Eggsy back down. “This is actually the first time you seem coherent,” he adds.

Eggsy grunts. “I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassin’,” he says. “ _Especially_ in front of Trevor, that fuckin’ wanker. He’ll never let me hear the end of it if I did!”

“No, nothing too embarrassing. You were mostly confused by what happened,” Merlin assures. “And we’d take turns explaining it to you, for all the good that did. Are you in any pain? I can page one of the doctors.”

The younger man shakes his head. “Bit thirsty.” He wiggles his nose against the nasal cannula and frowns. “And if someone could take this thing out, I’d appreciate it.”

“That would be up to Dr. Ionescu, but I can get you some water,” Merlin says. He turns to the bedside cabinet where a pitcher and plastic cups reside.

As Merlin fills one, Eggsy asks, “We were arguin’ before I was shot, weren’t we?”

He nearly drops the cup and splashes water as he fumbles with it. “You remember,” Merlin says as he sets it down.

“Well, yeah,” Eggsy replies. “I mean…I remember most of it.”

Merlin helps Eggsy hold the cup and watches him take several sips. “Most of it, you say?”

“The last bit,” the younger man confesses once he’s had his fill of water. “At least the part where you said that you love me.” He watches Merlin set the cup back down, green eyes filled with hesitation. “That wasn’t a dream, was it? I didn’t imagine it?”

He shakes his head. “No,” Merlin replies as he sits down beside the bed. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Eggsy goes unwontedly quiet as he processes their conversation. His fingers unconsciously pick at the edges of the blankets, dancing across the fabric. Merlin longs to reach out to hold them or run his lips over Eggsy’s abraded knuckles.

“Guess that makes us even now,” Eggsy says after a while. “You got yourself blown up for me and I got some extra holes for you. The way I see it, we’re square, bruv.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and scoots closer, reaching for one of Eggsy’s hands. He takes it between both of his own and holds it. Closing his eyes, he kisses Eggsy’s fingertips. “Eggsy, saving your life was never a question,” he intones. “I would do it again—a thousand times over if I had to—just to keep you safe.”

“Then why did you break up with me?” Eggsy asks, though not out of anger.

“Because I was being a twat. Because I felt like I couldn’t be honest about how I was feeling. Because I was scared of how close I came to losing you,” Merlin confesses. Tears prick his eyes, but he doesn’t care. “If you had died…I’m fairly certain I would have gone right along with you.”

Eggsy brushes his fingers over Merlin’s cheek, wiping away the wetness from his eyes. He’s _missed_ this—that easy way it’s always been between them. “Bruv, that’s some Romeo and Juliet shit there.”

Merlin bursts out laughing; until his stomach and face aches. “You little shit,” he says once he’s able to speak without chuckling. He cups Eggsy’s cheek, feeling his skin and the scrape of stubble against his palm. “I should have never shut you out, _a ghràidh_. I shouldn’t have hurt you so deeply. If you’d allow it, I would like to fix the mess I’ve made.”

“You mean get back together?”

“Aye,” Merlin says. “Only if you want to. If I haven’t completely ruined us.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes and tugs on Merlin’s wrist, pulling him closer. “Has anyone ever told you what a fuckin’ drama queen you are? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Merlin! You’re a fuckin’ idiot, do you know that?” he replies as a smile break out on his face. “You haven’t completely ruined us. It’s gonna take a lot more than you actin’ like an arsehole for me to fall out of love with you. Now kiss me, you daft cow!”

He does; quite happily. It’s by no means the most romantic kiss Merlin’s experienced or even the best. Eggsy’s stubble scratches his skin and his lips are dry, but it’s perfect.

When they part, Eggsy traces the shape of Merlin’s lips with his fingers. “We’re square, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Merlin says fondly as he brushes Eggsy’s hair off his forehead. “We’re square.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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